The Way Forward
by Baker Lutgens
Summary: Blake is dead. The survivors of Gauda Prime are struggling to rebuild their lives and find a future and struggling with revelations about Blake. How will they regain their footing and become a team again?
1. Chapter 1

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Prologue

"_Stop! Is it true, Blake? Did you betray us? Did you betray ME?—Stand still!" Avon swung his rifle up to his side and pointed it at Blake._

_Incredibly Blake kept advancing. "I set all this up," he said proudly, triumphantly. Avon lifted the rifle higher. Still Blake advanced, his hard-looking gun woman beside him. "I was waiting for YOU." He was smiling, advancing . . ._

_One! two! three! shots from Avon's rifle. Blake fell at his feet. His _friend _fell at his feet. Avon stared down at him for a few moments, rifle hanging limply at his side. With heavy finality, he placed one foot on either side of Blake and straddled his body. Oblivious to everything around him, he gazed down at Blake's unseeing eyes._

_Federation troopers poured into the room and formed a circle around Avon, weapons pointed at his head. Now he understood: Blake hadn't betrayed him; they had _both _been betrayed. Avon looked up at the troopers. So slowly it didn't seem a threat, he raised his rifle to his shoulder, sighting on something—or someone?—directly in front of him. He began squeezing the trigger . . . and smiled._

NO!

Part 1 of 12

The lights were bright, and he couldn't see properly. A blurred face appeared close to his.

"Avon?"

Vila's voice. He struggled to focus. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as though his voice was too tired to try.

"Do you know me?" Vila asked softly.

_Of course I know you; why are you asking me that?_ Avon thought. He tried again. "Vila," he whispered.

Vila turned his head and called to someone, "He knows me!" and to Avon, "You know me!"

"Avon?"

Dayna's voice. But Dayna was dead; he saw her die. Her face came close to his, smiling. He could see a little better now, and it _was _her face.

He whispered, "Interrogate . . ."

"No, Avon," Vila answered. We're not Federation interrogators. He turned his head to Dayna. "He thinks we're Federation interrogators."

"Idiot!" Avon hissed. "Here: cell?"

Dayna answered, "No, Avon, this isn't a cell. We're not in a Federation facility. We're all right, we're free."

"R'member . . . ship."

"Yes," she soothed. "We were on a spaceship, to get here from Gauda Prime."

A stranger, a sandy haired man, joined them. "I think he's had enough for now. I want to take a look at him and let him rest. He's pretty weak."

"All right, Doc," Vila said reluctantly. "You know best. I'll be back later, Avon. There's a lot to tell you." He left.

Dayna leaned over and stroked his cheek lightly. "I'm glad to have you back," she said softly and followed Vila.

"Doctor . . ." Avon asked.

"Jorn Tabor. I've been looking after you since your friends brought you here from Gauda Prime." He punched buttons on a monitor beside the bed and studied the results. "You had some injuries, but they're much better now. You've been in bed for three weeks. You'll be pretty weak for a while, but you're recovering; you've had good friends to help you."

"How?"

"Later. You need to rest some more now. This is the first time you've been aware of your surroundings since you were injured. It's a good sign."

Avon struggled to speak, but the doctor—Tabor, was it?—put his hand on his shoulder and said, "Just sleep now. You'll be stronger when you wake up, and you're never alone. One of your friends is always with you." He patted Avon's shoulder.

Avon's eyes drifted shut against his will. Friends. He still had some?

* * *

Vila and Dayna had been standing in the corridor outside Avon's room, looking through the observation window at Avon while Doctor Tabor had spoken with him. Both were encouraged by what had happened. Maybe now Avon would be all right. They had watched over him in turns since the awful slaughter at Gauda Prime.

They had gone to find Blake, who had been missing since the Andromedan War four years earlier. Vila had known him from the start, eight years ago. He had met Blake and Jenna in the holding cell before they were put on the prison ship _London_, enroute to the prison colony Cygnus Alpha. Jenna had been caught smuggling—she called it _freetrading_—black market goods, and Blake had been falsely convicted of interfering with children. He _said _it was false. Vila didn't really know whether to believe him until three and a half years later, when the deception was confirmed by one of the court officials. Vila was in the holding cell with Blake and Jenna because he'd been caught thieving. Since he was an adult this time, they'd given him a life sentence on a prison planet. No-one ever came back from prison planets. Vila had been so frightened that he'd muffed it when he tried, out of habit, to steal a sleeping Blake's watch. Jenna had seen him, and Blake had awakened. It was an odd way for three people to become allies, but they had.

On the prison ship, Vila had met Gan, who would become his best friend, and Avon, who would become—what? Vila always had trouble trying to decide what he and Avon were to each other. Avon wouldn't let himself have friends, wouldn't let himself care about people. At least that's what he said. "Sentiment breeds weakness," he'd say. No-one could get close to Avon the way the others had gotten close to each other. Yet Avon was always there for each of them, especially Blake.

Blake and Avon had a very peculiar friendship. They had alternately fought and—not made up, no. They either fought or got ready to fight. Blake alternated between declaring Avon his trusted friend or accusing him of deception and betrayal. For his part, Avon was consistent: he sneered at everyone—especially Blake. Sneering came naturally to Avon, Vila reflected, and he almost never smiled unless it was at another's misfortune.

Blake, Avon, and Jenna had escaped from the _London_ and taken over a derelict ship the crew of the _London _had attempted to claim for the salvage prize money. Jenna had christened it the _Liberator_, accurately. They had rescued Vila and Gan from Cygnus Alpha and, later, Cally from Saurian Major. She was a rebel, like Blake, like Gan became, like Jenna tried to become.

Things had gone pretty well at first. They'd made some gains for the Rebellion; Blake had become a sort of folk hero, fetching handsome prices on all their heads. It was during that time they'd met Avalon, another resistance leader, in whose base they were now sheltering. Blake, Jenna, and Vila had rescued her from the Federation, from the trap laid by Supreme Commander Servalan and her mad dog, Travis.

In Vila's mind, it was right after they'd acquired the supercomputer Orac that things had started going wrong. Blake's schemes had begun getting riskier, the rewards smaller, and Blake began careening back and forth between emotional highs and lows. The Federation had begun to find them ever more often, and they didn't seem to be able to accomplish anything.

Blake came up with his most frightening, outrageous scheme of all: to take possession of Federation Central Control on Earth, the computer complex that monitored and directed activities on all the Federated Worlds. Climate control, navigation, banking systems, manufacturing, agriculture—entire economies—owed their existence and prosperity to Control. Untold billions of people depended on Control for their very lives. If Blake could command that, the Rebellion could succeed overnight.

That was a horrible fiasco. An entire rebel group was ambushed and killed getting Blake inside. Servalan and Travis had been waiting for them. Travis was always waiting for them somewhere; it was his specialty, and Blake knew that. Blake had always known that. Vila had tried to be fair about it, but Blake should have expected Travis.

And it was all for what? An empty room. A hoax. Control had been moved thirty years before, the secret kept all that time. An empty room, save for Servalan and Travis. If it hadn't been for Jenna, they'd have died there. Gan did.

Maybe that's why things had changed a little with Avon. He started letting Vila get a little close to him. Maybe he felt sorry for Vila losing his best friend, if Avon ever felt sorry for anyone.

After that spectacular failure on Earth, Blake became obsessed. He _had _to find Control, and he intended to destroy it—destroy it utterly, without a thought to the millions who would probably die when their planetary systems were disrupted. Looking back, Vila realized Blake had become completely unhinged. The only reason Blake hadn't succeeded was that Travis had gotten there first—it was his talent, wasn't it? Vengeful, insane Travis had beaten them to Star One, the uninhabited planet where Control _really _was. In his insanity, Travis allied himself with an invasion force from another galaxy. Nobody was ever sure why they were bent on the destruction of the human-populated galaxy. Self-protection? Xenophobia? Conquest?

That was what started the Andromedan War. Everyone who could fight, Federationists and rebels alike, had come together to defeat that vast invasion fleet. There were devastating loses on both sides, and the Andromedans had succeeded in destroying Control—they usurped Blake's obsession. The _Liberator _had held the breach until the Federation could reach the war zone. _Avon _had held the breach. Avon, who professed not to care about anyone but himself, who always said the rest of mankind could go to hell, Avon had held the breach. Blake had been wounded at Star One and hadn't contributed anything.

That Avon had prevented what would probably have been the slaughter of billions at the hands of the Andromedans should have become common knowledge except for Servalan. Having used the War to stage a bloody, but successful, coup, she was able to commit vast resources to hunting him down—and suppressing, amongst the Federation populations, his role in the War. She and Avon had some sort of contact during the war, during the time when he and his crew had been forced to temporarily abandon a crippled _Liberator_. Vila never knew the details, but Supreme Commander Servalan, now President Servalan, devoted herself to hunting him in earnest.

Avon picked up two new crew members, young survivors from the War, Tarrant and Dayna. Tarrant was a young deserter who had been running contraband in his stolen Federation ship, and Dayna was an even younger naif for whom Avon had taken responsibility. Blake and Jenna never made it back to the _Liberator_. The _Liberator _crew tried to follow Blake's trail but couldn't find him; it seemed they were always one step behind him. Of Jenna they'd had no word at all beyond her initial message that she didn't require immediate assistance. They couldn't find any clues to her whereabouts and had finally assumed she was dead.

They had hunted for Blake, and run from Servalan, for two years. Finally Avon received a message from Blake, a request for a rendezvous, a request he asked Avon to conceal from the rest of the crew. Avon should have known something was wrong about that, but he had become obsessed himself, obsessed with finding Blake. He had started to become a little unstable, a little extreme in his moods.

In his obsession for Blake, Avon had led the _Liberator _into the Supreme Empress Servalan's trap at Terminal. Oh, yes, she was "Supreme Empress" now. Blake wasn't there; the messages were a lure. The _Liberator _was destroyed, and Cally had died on Terminal. Another friend gone.

The last two years had almost run together in Vila's mind. Except for encountering a pretty young woman, Soolin, whom Avon hired as a bodyguard, every day of that time seemed the same to Vila: run or hide from the deposed Servalan, now masquerading as Commissioner Sleer; try to keep their junk heap ship _Scorpio_ running; and try to tolerate a nearly psychopathic Avon. Avon made some attempts to bolster the Rebellion by recruiting scientists and specialists for them, but his efforts had failed because of his lack of resources. He had also continued a secret hunt for Blake, whom Dayna and Tarrant were convinced was dead.

Vila wished Avon had never found Blake. Finding him nearly killed them all. It _did _kill Soolin. They lost the _Scorpio _over Gauda Prime, shot down. Blake was supposed to have established a rebel base there. They should have been suspicious when they learned about the misbegotten planet—it was a ridiculously bad place for a rebel stronghold. But they ignored any misgivings and plunged ahead in Avon's zeal to find Blake and dump responsibilities for his benighted Cause back in his lap.

Another trap. Servalan/Sleer's trap undoubtedly. They walked right into it, and almost didn't walk out. Blake and Soolin were dead, Tarrant had been maimed, and Avon had succumbed to insanity. It occurred to Vila that Avon must have suffered what people used to label a nervous breakdown sometime in the last two or three years, and none of them had recognized it or done anything to help him. Avon had concealed it, as he always concealed weakness. They'd just sat back and let Avon shoulder all the burdens—which he was always ready to do. The anguish on Avon's face as he killed Blake had sickened Vila, and he had spent three weeks sitting at the bedside of a man who was lost somewhere in his own head.

Now—maybe—he had come back to them.

* * *

Avon's eyes flew open. Reality? What was this place? Murmuring in the background, featureless ceiling. He looked down at his side and saw Vila, his head resting on his arms against the edge of the bed, snoring softly. Vila, with his ever-innocent face now so tired looking.

He must have stirred because Vila woke up, his face worried, his eyes searching Avon's.

"Avon?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Vila." His voice was stronger this time. "Where are we?"

"In a medical unit, on Horizon. You remember when we went to Horizon before, when the rest of us got ourselves into trouble, and they made us work in the mines, and you had to come rescue us? It's all right, though. It's not a Federated world anymore. We're in a rebel base now, so we're among friends."

Avon's left arm felt wrong somehow, different, and he looked down. It was encased in an orthocrete splint. He moved it slightly, experimentally, and let his head drop back on the pillow. "How long have I been out?"

"Three weeks. You haven't been unconscious the whole time, not really. You were awake some at first, but you didn't know us—you didn't know anything. Do you remember? No, I guess not. I think you were in shock or something. The doctors said it was more than just getting hurt; they said you had retreated—" He stopped, looking unhappy. He'd said more than he meant to. "But you'll be better now."

"Dayna? Was she here before?" Avon hoped she was real.

"Yes, she's been here a lot. One of us is always here with you."

"They certainly are," smiled a brown haired woman. "I'm Anda Naylor. I've been helping to take care of you. Vila's been restricting your visitors. He hasn't let anyone but friends and medical staff see you. It's probably just as well; you're going to be very popular here." She moved around to the other side of the bed. Avon wished she hadn't. Now he'd have to turn his head back and forth between the two of them. He looked at his splinted arm and back to her.

"You took some high energy bolts—friendly fire, I'm afraid. The Federation troops had stun weapons, we didn't. It's healing well; you shouldn't have too much trouble with your arm, if any. Your back will take a little longer. Can't feel it? Good. It's covered in pain patches and a paralytic agent." She responded to the panic in his eyes, "Doctor Tabor did quite a lot of surgery around your lower spine, but he's satisfied it's healing. He just doesn't want you moving around for a while." She patted his shoulder. "I'll go and get him now."

Avon turned his head back to Vila, who displayed his own bandaged hand. "Broken. It doesn't hurt anymore, and the doc says I'll be okay too." The thief examined it critically. "Cramps my style though. Can't slide it into a mark's pocket with all this on it. Not that anyone here has much worth stealing. Rebels are a poor lot."

Tabor arrived and set a mug and spoon down on the table next to the bed. "You're awake again. Good. Doctor Naylor told you why you can't move about yet, didn't she? You took some energy bolts to your spine and arm. There was a lot of tissue and muscle damage and some fracturing in the spine; but I didn't see evidence of damage to the spinal cord, and the bolts were too low to damage your kidneys. You'll regain use of your legs." He took up Avon's wrist and held it several moments, checking his watch. Putting Avon's arm down, he pulled a pencil beam from his pocket and began peering into Avon's eyes. "Your arm should heal completely. You've had damage there before, haven't you? I saw evidence of old wounds." He put the pencil beam away and begin testing the adhesion of various patches placed on Avon's chest and arms, punching buttons on a monitor and studying the results. "I know you feel pretty helpless, but the splint can come off in a couple of days. We'll see about removing the paralytic patches in a week or so.

"There's some ice here that you can suck on. You can't have any solid food just yet; the pain patches would cause it to upset your stomach. I'll ask someone to get you some broth. For now, all you have to do is rest and get better." He patted Avon's shoulder and left.

Vila took up the spoon in his good hand and carefully shovelled up a piece of ice. "Open up, Avon. It'll feel good to have something wet in your mouth." He tilted the spoon just a little soon, and the ice slid off onto Avon's bare chest, nudging one of the monitor patches. The monitor began bleeping. "Oh! Sorry, Avon." He plucked the ice off, and the monitor silenced. He tried again. He tilted the spoon again. The ice slid slowly down Avon's chest, missing the monitor patches but chilling every nerve ending on the way down. "I'll get better, I promise."

"Vila, just use your fingers," Avon said, exasperated.

"All right, but don't tell the medics. They're real serious about germs and stuff." Vila looked around quickly and popped a piece of ice in Avon's mouth. It felt wonderful, and he sucked on it greedily. And another.

Briefly satisfied, he asked, "What about Soolin and Tarrant?"

Vila's face saddened. "Soolin didn't make it, Avon. The Feds were kill happy, or they panicked or something. She was hit with so many stun bolts it stopped her breathing. The medics didn't get to her in time." His eyes were moist. "Tarrant . . . Tarrant got hurt when the _Scorpio _crashed, remember? Then he took some friendly fire too. The energy bolts were going everywhere, Avon. It's a wonder we didn't all die." He swallowed hard. "Tarrant didn't come out so good as us. He lost an arm."

_Lost an arm!_ Avon thought. _All he knows is piloting. Gods, what have I done to him?_

Vila continued, "The doctors fixed him up pretty good, and they say he'll be able to have a prosthetic arm if he wants one."

"If he wants one?"

Vila looked distressed. "He's having a lot of head problems, a lot of anger. Can't blame him, can you? Balance problems too, and that makes it all worse. I don't think he wants to go out where people can see him bumping into things, where they might feel sorry for him." Vila looked thoughtful. "He never seemed to me to be the kind of person who would give in so completely though. Just sits in his room sulking, being nasty to everyone—about like you on a good day." His attempt at humour fell flat. "There's a lot going on there; I don't know what. Anyway, that's why Doctor Naylor spends so much time with him. She's a psychologist."

"Has she been spending a lot of time with me?" Avon asked uncomfortably.

"She's been spending a lot of time with all of us. She doesn't think you're crazy anymore. Well, not much. I'm sorry, Avon. I didn't mean it that way. You're not a psychopath or anything; you just got . . . confused. 'Stress,' she said." He was embarrassed to be babbling. It wasn't helping.

"Avon!" Dayna called happily to him. "Here, I've brought you something better than ice." She carried a mug with a spoon in it. Reaching Avon's side, she frowned down at him. "Why is your chest wet? Vila, put that towel across him and lift the head of the bed some more. Wipe his chest first."

"It's just water, Dayna," Vila explained.

"Why did you give him water? You know he was only supposed to suck on ice chips. Really, Vila."

Vila kept his mouth shut from long practice.

When Avon was positioned to her satisfaction, she dribbled a little of the broth in his mouth. It was embarrassing to be treated like a child, but the broth tasted good. Dayna was better with spoons than Vila; she got quite a lot of the broth _in _him, not _on _him. Unfortunately, it had been so long since he had put anything in his stomach that he felt full very quickly. And tired.

Dayna saw that. She put the spoon back in the mug and set it down. Wetting a corner of the towel in the mug of melting ice, she dabbed at his mouth. "Stop squirming. I think you'd like to rest now." He nodded wearily. "Are you feeling cool? Would you like me to leave the towel over you?" He nodded again. "All right. Sleep now. One of us will always be nearby." She patted his shoulder and settled back in a chair.

Vila got up to leave. Exhausted, Avon whispered, "Vila, thank you." Vila's smile was blinding.

* * *

Vila hurried through the rebel base, looking for Doctor Naylor. He was frightened that telling Avon about Tarrant and Soolin had been a mistake and Avon would slide back into the safety of psychosis. Vila was under no illusions about his value to Avalon—none. It was Avon she was interested in; his genius for technology was probably unequalled in the Known Worlds. But he couldn't use it if he was existing in unreality. How long could Avalon afford to lavish resources on a broken man and his sometimes partner?

This base was the first place Vila had felt safe since his accidental involvement with the Rebellion eight years before. It was almost like living in London Dome again. He had lived most of his life there in the Delta Levels. Like the base, it had no windows, it was cramped, and everything was grey. As far as Vila was concerned, it was nearly perfect.

Windows were frightening. He always felt he was going to fall through them into unimaginable danger—unimaginable to someone who had never been outdoors until he was an adult. All manner of nasty surprises awaited him outside: storms, dangerous animals, vicious people—the people on Cygnus Alpha had certainly been vicious enough. Travelling in a spaceship was even more "outside." That's why Vila had never been tempted to look out the observation ports on spaceships. He hadn't looked out the ports on the _London _the entire eight months he was on it.

On the base, everyone lived in tiny spaces, just like the Delta Levels. It was easy to take care of a tiny space, easy to defend. No-one in the Delta Levels had much anyway; how much space does Nothing take? All Vila needed was a bed and enough room to turn around. Deltas didn't spend time in their rooms. After all, there was nothing there for entertainment. Entertainment was in the corridors and common areas: watching other Deltas, meeting friends, watching the viscasts on the common visboxes.

The walls, ceilings, and floors were grey in the Delta Levels, like the base. There was nothing wrong with grey. It made a nice background for the anonymous artists that brightened the walls in the Delta Levels. Periodically the walls were washed to dispose of the "vandalism." But that was all right because it made clean, new space for the next artist. Vila wondered when art would start appearing on the walls of Avalon's base.

And there were the people. In the Delta Levels there were people everywhere, shoulder to shoulder. It was always crowded, and that was good. You could hide in a crowd. Vila had been all too noticeable since leaving London Dome. He was convinced half the galaxy was out to get him. Realistically speaking, one quarter of the galaxy was probably more accurate, and that was only because his association with Blake and Avon had landed a large bounty on his head. The base was crowded like London Dome. That was fine with Vila.

Except for now, when he needed to find the doctor.

* * *

"I told him about Soolin and Tarrant. I'm sorry, Doctor," Vila said. "He asked, and I didn't know what else to say." His eyes pleaded with Naylor.

"That's all right, Vila. It would frustrate him not to get answers to his questions. He won't get any better if we lie to him. Did he ask about Blake?"

"No, and I'm glad. I don't know what I would say about that. I'm not sure I understand it myself, really. When did he start betraying us?"

"Carnell believes it had certainly started after he encountered Ven Glynd at Atlay. But it may have gone back as early as when he broke into Federation Central Control on Earth and discovered it was all a hoax."

"Gan died because of that."

"Yes, that may have contributed. Blake was probably always disturbed during the time you knew him, Vila."

"I guess that could explain some things," he said.

"Like what?"

"Like the way he would sometimes be a friend, and sometimes not. I mean, sometimes he could be really mean, and other times he could be real nice and understanding—not to me, though. He was just mean to me, now that I think about it. And he didn't seem to pay any attention at all to Gan."

"That was probably because he was born and raised an Alpha, with an Alpha's prejudices towards the service grades. But I think what you mean is that he treated the others in two very distinct ways."

"That's exactly it, Doctor. He would accuse Avon of betraying him and be very ugly about it; then he'd turn around and tell him how much he trusted him. He would hug Jenna and look happy; then he'd pay her no attention at all. It kept throwing me off."

"It would have thrown Avon off too. He would never have known how he was going to be treated at any given moment, what to expect. It must have been like always waiting for something to fall on him. From what you've told me about Avon, he may have unconsciously adopted some of Blake's patterns." When Vila looked alarmed, she soothed, "Don't worry, Vila. I know you said Avon is at turns nice and nasty, but he's not going to betray you. He's not the same as Blake. However 'crazy' you may think Avon's acted, he's still your friend. You said he's been betrayed several times; but he hasn't done it to anyone else, has he?"

"No, he hasn't." He thought for a moment. "Avon's an Alpha too, higher even than Blake; but he didn't act like Blake. Avon always _talked _like Gan and I were stupid, but he always listened to what we said. Blake didn't. I think Blake just wanted us to shut up and stop bothering him. Avon would _say _he wanted us to shut up and stop bothering him, but somehow it was different. Maybe that's why Gan never got angry with Avon, but he sometimes got angry with Blake."

She changed the subject. "When is Jenna due in?"

"Tomorrow, I think. Do you think I should tell him about her?"

"No, don't bring it up. If he asks, tell him, but keep it simple. She's not quite ready to see him yet. Why don't we let them wait until then?" Naylor laid her hand lightly on his arm. "I need to go see Tarrant now. Will you be all right?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Good. Go and get some rest so you can spell Dayna."

She watched him leave, thinking, _Vila Restal must be one of the gentlest—and strongest—persons I've ever met.

* * *

_

Tarrant had spent his day in the usual way: brooding in his room. He had stopped leaving it except to visit the base mess hall for meal paks. If he could have had his way, he would have collected enough of them so that he wouldn't have to leave his room for a month. But they only let you have a few at a time, so he was compelled to venture out every three or four days. He tried to time his trips during periods of relative inactivity on the base because he'd grown sick of receiving pitying glances.

After collecting enough food for a few days, he divided his time between reading and sleeping, mostly sleeping. And when he couldn't sleep, he lay there staring at the underside of the storage shelf over the bed, thinking. Vila and Dayna had tried to visit him at first, but he had driven them away with his bitter attitude and sarcasm. That was good; it gave him more time to think.

They'd told him about Avon's injuries—both physical and mental. He was expected to recover physically. That was the only positive news Tarrant had received since waking up after surgery. At least he hadn't gotten Avon killed, although he nearly had. He'd crashed the _Scorpio _at Gauda Prime through his own overconfidence in his flying skills. Then he'd screwed up when Blake brought him to his base, shouting at Avon that Blake had betrayed them and precipitating a firefight that killed nearly everyone.

But why stop there? Tarrant thought back through the countless times he'd challenged the older man's authority on his own ship—his own ship! Avon had a lot more experience surviving much more serious attempts to destroy him than Tarrant had experienced in his short career as a petty smuggler. He thought of the time he'd tried to bully Avon by threatening to kill him. Avon had laughed.

If he hadn't worked so hard at convincing Avon he was a nitwit, Avon might—just might—have agreed to the one or two genuinely useful suggestions he'd had. They might not have lost the _Liberator_, they might not have lost the _Scorpio_, they might not have lost Cally and Soolin. Tarrant might not have lost his arm, and Avon might not have lost his mind. And to think he'd once called Avon a loser—what hubris!

This favourite line of thought was interrupted by the announce button and Doctor Naylor's voice. Reluctantly he got up to let her in.

"Come to check up on me, _Doctor_?" Tarrant said it with more than a touch of sarcasm. "Don't worry, I haven't undone all your hard work by committing suicide."

Naylor stepped into his quarters saying, "Good. I hate to waste my time."

"Do you? Please, go talk to someone who needs it, with my blessings." He turned away from her and sat on the edge of his bed, placing a bookscreen on his lap and punching the buttons savagely. It almost slid off, and he caught it awkwardly, cursing under his breath.

"Doctor Tabor says you're regaining your balance very well, that you're not bumping into door frames as much. But you're a talented pilot, so I'm told. You would have superior balance, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes, _Doctor_, you should have seen me in action just this morning," he said, briefly rubbing at the latest bruise. Impatiently he shoved the bookscreen off his lap. "I wouldn't even be able to 'pilot' a groundcar like this," he gestured towards his empty sleeve. "How do you want me to act?" he asked viciously.

Naylor leaned back against the minuscule table desk affixed to the wall. "I don't _want _you to act in any particular way. I just came to tell you that Jenna Stannis will be here in two days, and she says she'll take you up and let you see what you can do."

He looked at her with exasperation. "Like this? Even if I get a prosthesis, how good a pilot can I be? You have to _feel_ the ship, _Doctor_, with _both _arms, with _all _of your body. Besides, the controls are made for _two_ arms. I think you'll find that fairly standard," he said acidly.

"Nevertheless, you can try it if you think you're really such a hotshot pilot." Then she softened her tone a little. "I'm not your enemy, Tarrant."

"Everything in life is my enemy, Doctor."

"Even Avon?" she asked quietly.

Startled, he looked directly at her for the first time. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Avon's not my enemy, not anymore, not if he ever was."

"Then why haven't you been to see him?" He looked away. She continued, "Either Dayna or Vila is with him all the time. He needs his friends, Tarrant. He's been very ill, and I'm talking about something other than his physical injuries. He's been ill for a long time. You know that, Tarrant."

Tarrant looked uncomfortable then. After a time he said, "I know, Doctor, but I don't see how I can be of much help to him. We always seemed at odds anyhow. I don't expect he much cares to see me. He's never counted me among his friends, if he's ever counted anyone as a friend."

They both grew silent. Faint sounds filtered into the room: voices, machinery, the ever present creaks and groans of a new building settling into life—the sounds of life itself, going on around them, but somehow leaving them alone.

"He woke up again," Naylor said. "This time he knew who Vila and Dayna were. He seemed to have a grip on reality." She waited until Tarrant met her eyes. "He asked about you. Doesn't that mean something?"

Uncomfortable again, he couldn't answer.

Naylor straightened. "Well, that's really what I came to tell you. I thought you might consider going to see him. It would probably do him some good."

When he didn't answer, she turned and left.

* * *

Avalon had been at her desk early. She'd been at her desk late the night before too. It seemed like she never left anymore. She'd been reviewing reports—reports on food supplies, reports on accommodations, reports on the growing numbers of independent merchants setting up outside the base, reports on fuel supplies, reports on . . . ah, a report from General Wrell. Not a report really, more a request, a lot of requests. He wanted immediate access to new weapons shipments—not possible; they were still being tested. He wanted another ship—where in the galaxy would she get that? He wanted better food for his personnel—they could eat what everyone else ate; there wasn't anything else available. He wanted—a draft? Did he think he was still in the Federation? She sighed and began composing carefully worded responses. She'd have to deliver them personally; he required a lot of humouring and stroking. He wanted, he wanted . . . Well, so did she.

Right now what she really wanted was Kerr Avon's expertise. He was the foremost computer genius in the Known Worlds, and she had him right there on her base. If she handled him with kid gloves, she'd have a resource the Federation couldn't match—_if_ he came out of his self-imposed mental exile. If he didn't, she'd have to find somewhere safe to dump him. With Vila Restal. He wasn't any use to her except to take care of Avon. Dayna had been helpful in the armoury, and Tarrant might be useful as a pilot if he could fly again. She'd have to try to find a prosthetic arm and cybersurgeon too. That would be expensive, maybe too expensive. All right, she'd withhold judgement on Tarrant for a while. If she could find the resources, she'd keep him.

Avalon's source in the medical unit had reported Avon had awakened again. This time he'd recognised his friends and seemed to understand his situation. She was mildly annoyed at the doctors for not letting her know immediately, so she'd asked them to come to her office for a conference. And they should have been there already, according to her chronometer.

She was reaching for the intercom button when it clicked, "Avalon, Doctors Naylor and Tabor are here."

"Thank you, Riece. Send them in." She stood to greet them. "Anda, Jorn, thank you for coming. Sit, please. I understand Avon may be back with us?"

"Yes," they answered together and looked an apology at each other.

"You first then, Jorn. What's his medical situation?" Avalon prompted.

"His arm can come out of the splint tomorrow, and he can start using it again. I've assigned Task to give him therapy. I've still got his back immobilized and deadened, but I'm going to remove some of the pain patches and see how he deals with any discomfort. It would be difficult for him to tolerate solid food with those drugs in his system. The sooner he starts eating normally, the faster the damage will heal. I want the paralytic patches to remain another week or so."

"That long?" Avalon asked. "Is that usual?"

"No," he answered, "it's not, but he was in a depleted condition before his injuries, so that has slowed the healing. If removing some of the patches isn't too much of a problem, I'm going to start getting him into a mobile chair for longer and longer periods of time. Giving him back some control over his life should be helpful, shouldn't it, Anda?"

"Yes. I can't speak about his mental condition in any detail because I haven't been able to talk with him, other than when he was in a confused state. I really only know what the others have told me about him. He understands where he is and what's happened to him.

"I'm looking forward to talking with him. Dayna and Vila describe him as 'difficult,' and then proceed to list his finer qualities." She laughed. "No, that's not quite accurate. Vila calls him 'arrogant bastard' and then fiercely defends him."

Avalon smiled. "I remember him from when I was on the _Liberator _briefly. When do you think I could talk to him? We badly need his skills—if he's willing." She looked at Tabor.

"Medically speaking, there's no reason you can't see him—provided his 'guardian' agrees. Anda and I have been talking about it," Tabor answered.

Naylor took up the thread, "We believe he will recover more quickly if he perceives he's needed and is given something useful to do. If Vila allows it, talk to him anytime. He doesn't know about Blake yet, and I'm leaving that up to Vila for now. He knows Avon better than any of us, and he'll be the best judge of when to tell him. It'll be a difficult concept for Avon whenever Vila tells him. Apparently Blake was very important to him. The betrayals will seem very personal."

Avalon agreed. "Blake was very important to the Rebellion. It was difficult for me to accept the extent of his treachery. Thank you, Anda. Now on to Tarrant. What can we expect there? He's a talented pilot, and we could certainly use him too," Avalon prompted.

Tabor answered, "His chief problem now is probably the bitterness. Anda can speak about that. Medically he's healed well and doesn't seem to be in any pain. There's no reason not to go ahead and fit him with a prosthesis. But Anda wants to wait, and I agree."

Naylor explained, "In order for him to adapt to a prosthesis, he'll have to _want _that prosthesis. Right now he just wants to brood, and I think it's something to do with Avon. I'm not clear why that is because he's not forthcoming in our visits. Anger? Guilt? That may take some time. Jorn and I think it would be best if he can get interested in piloting again. Jenna Stannis has offered to take him on as copilot until he's ready to take a ship of his own. Perhaps once he's back in a preferred environment, he'll be more willing to let go of his bitterness."

Avalon asked, "Blake?"

Naylor answered, "I don't think he knows about Blake; he doesn't leave his room much, and he doesn't talk with other people. It might not mean much to him, if anything at all. He never knew Blake even though he willingly went along with Avon's efforts to find him. I think Blake's only importance to Tarrant is through Avon."

"Dayna?" Avalon looked at Tabor.

"Fortunately she was only stunned once at Gauda Prime. You knew that their companion, a local woman named Soolin, died there from excessive stun bolts? But Dayna is fine. She sits with Avon or helps out in the armoury."

Naylor began without prompting, "As for Blake, like Tarrant, she didn't know him. His importance to her was only through Avon. Avon will always be her chief focus. Did you know about her father and sister?" she asked.

"No, I wasn't aware she had any family."

"Her sister and father died during the Andromedan War, though not as a result of the fighting. The sister was apparently murdered by the local primitives on their home planet. The father was murdered by Servalan," she paused for Avalon's response.

"Servalan again. The sooner we are rid of her, the better for the whole galaxy," Avalon replied—as Naylor expected.

Naylor continued, "It was at that time that she met Avon. Dayna found herself very young, very alone, and with no resources. Avon took her with him on the _Liberator _and assumed responsibility for her. He replaced her father. Not surprisingly she's fiercely loyal to him—and fiercely protective."

"Vila?" Avalon asked.

"His hand is healing well, and he should regain full use of it again," Tabor said. "He probably won't need any formal therapy; I think he'll provide his own." He smiled.

Naylor laughed. "He's been lamenting how difficult it is to pick locks with one hand. He's dealing with everything that has happened amazingly well. Vila's a very resilient person and adapts to nearly any situation better than most people. I can't even consider his being a thief an aberration—it's his talent. That's why the Federation couldn't 'condition' him."

Avalon smiled. "We'll all have to check our pockets when we're around him. Oh, since Carnell thinks he's getting a pretty good handle on Blake's activities, direct any of Avon's group to him if they ask. The more they can tell him, the better Carnell will be able to determine which betrayals were Blake's and which were by undiscovered Federation agents." She stood up, indicating that the meeting was over. "Thank you, Doctors. Let me know if you need anything. All of these people could be valuable to us if they're willing."

* * *

Vila was with Avon when he asked, "Vila, why do you come and sit with me?"

Startled because it reminded him of the time Avon asked him why he stayed with Blake, he lightly answered the same: "Because I've got nowhere else to go."

"Yes, you do. You're free of . . ." He almost said 'Blake' and started over, "You're free of me, and you're surrounded by people who'll protect you." He studied his hand plucking at the blanket, trying to hide his unease.

"Here, let me do that." Vila pulled the blanket higher to hide his own discomfort.

"Why, Vila? After what I did to you at Malodar, why?" He wouldn't look at Vila.

Vila was puzzled. "You didn't do anything to me at Malodar. What do you mean?"

Avon looked at him, perplexed. "In the shuttle, Vila. When I tried . . ." He watched his hand plucking at the blanket again. "I was going to kill you. I was going to push you out of the airlock before I found what was weighing down the shuttle. Why do you care now?" Looking up, he searched Vila's eyes.

Vila was staring at him as though he hadn't heard properly. "What are you talking about, Avon? You didn't try to push me out the airlock."

"I was going to. That's why I was searching for you—to kill you. I had a gun. If you hadn't hidden, I would have done it."

"Hidden? There was no place left to hide on that shuttle. We'd already spaced all the hatch covers. You never had a gun. You weren't searching for me, Avon. You didn't do anything. You just froze up when that idiot computer said we were still too heavy to achieve orbit. I don't know why he couldn't have said what was causing it, worthless pile of plastic," he said disgustedly. "That's why I kept looking for something—anything—to throw out."

"What?"

"That's when I found that little cube holding the speck of neutron star material. And it was pretty difficult to jettison too. Fifty kilos by myself, I ask you. Nearly threw my back out. I called for you to help me, but you just sat there, staring. Orac explained to me later what the thing was, as if _I_ was the idiot instead of _him_. I'm not sorry to be rid of that box of faulty circuits. I always said he was thick."

For long moments, Avon just stared at him.

Worried, Vila said, "Here, you're not going to do that again, are you? Just stare while you go somewhere else? Avon?"

"I didn't try to kill you? I didn't try to push you out of the airlock?"

"No! Why would you? Avon, you don't remember the way it really happened, do you?"

Avon looked away, distress distorting his face. "Who did you say that psychologist is?"

"Doctor Naylor."

"I think I need to see her. Would you ask her, please?"


	2. Chapter 2

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 2 of 12

Jenna Stannis was bringing a much-needed cargo of food supplies into Horizon. Avalon didn't pay well—couldn't pay well—but every time Jenna delivered a cargo to Avalon, it gave her an opportunity to pick up monopasium from Horizon's government mines for delivery to Xaranar. That brought a good price. More importantly, it gave her an opportunity to check Avon's progress.

"How long to the energy barrier, Dev?" Jenna asked.

"Sixty seconds at current speed, Captain."

"Degauss and warn me at ten seconds," she instructed while reducing speed.

"Aye, Captain."

She hated this part. Degaussing was an energy drain, and minimum scans made her nervous. They hadn't spotted any ships nearby, and they were coming in with the planet between the ship and the space lanes; but it was still possible someone was out there. The Federation had long-range scanners, and some of their ships had detector shields. Jenna couldn't use long-range scanners so close to the barrier, and she didn't have detector shields. Maybe Avon could work on that when he recovered.

_If _he ever recovered. Vila had been telling her the things that had happened after she and Blake left, and she was appalled. It had been bad enough when they were together on the _Liberator_ with the Feds hunting them. But after the Andromedan War, Servalan had waged a personal vendetta against Avon. She had thrown huge resources into finding and destroying him, giving him not a moment of peace.

And Blake had helped her, slipping into rebel groups, often in disguise. Every time Avon contacted a group that Blake also had contact with, Blake had tipped the Federation. Avon probably had no idea how close he'd come to capture or destruction all that time.

After the fiasco at Terminal when the _Liberator_ was destroyed, things were even worse. Though Servalan's circumstances were much reduced, Supreme Commander Servalan, President of the Terran Federation, Ruler of the High Council, and all the rest of her murderously obtained titles, reacted to her overthrow by simply assuming the identity of an obscure Federation official, Commissioner Sleer, and continuing to hunt Avon. She was obsessed.

But if _her _resources were reduced, Avon's were reduced even more. With him crippling along in that junk heap _Scorpio_ and operating out of a minuscule base, it was only a matter of time before her agents caught up with him. And _still _Blake was reporting to the Feds whenever Avon contacted a rebel group. The Federation wasn't really much interested in Avon anymore—he had become ineffective—but they had never rescinded the ten million credit bounty on him. Servalan/Sleer wanted him _and _the money.

Blake. He had fooled them all. Even himself. Jenna wasn't clear yet on everything he'd done—maybe no one would ever know—but Carnell had been studying him, and maybe he could provide some answers. She only knew that Blake had begun betraying them back on the _Liberator, _but she wasn't sure when it had started. It had caused her to go over and over events in her mind, trying to find the first betrayal. Could it have been as early as when they had been forced to play that bizarre hunting game with Travis and his mutoid pilot? How had Travis located the _Liberator _so easily? Blake had been so affectionate with her down on the planet. When they got back to the ship, nothing. She wondered if Blake had felt any of his old affection—even just a little—when he saw Avon on Gauda Prime, when he saw Avon for the last time.

Jenna felt like such a fool. Anda Naylor had explained it to her: why he was at turns affectionate and encouraging, and at turns dismissive. But she hadn't explained why Jenna persisted in trying to win his love for so long. Jenna didn't want to ask. It hurt too much.

And Avon. Poor Avon. Blake had treated him abominably. He had played her and Avon against each other, and she had fallen for it. It had taken her too long to figure out that Avon respected, even admired, her. He kept sending signals to her, and she kept ignoring them. That was why she was uncomfortable with the thought of seeing him again. Her face grew warm, thinking about it. Part of her wanted to embrace a friend, and the other part wanted to hide in embarrassment. The doctors said he was recovering. She had asked them every day about him when she was at the base and frequently looked in on him when she was sure he was asleep. She'd probably have to face him soon.

"Barrier in ten seconds, Captain," Dev broke into her thoughts.

"Thank you, Dev. Lissa, go to minimum scans." She braced herself. The engineers had told her it was impossible, but she was still sure she could feel the barrier, like something crawling all over her skin. There it was. She waited, trying to ignore it; and then they were through. Whew! Maybe Avon could find a way to tune the barrier differently, some way that wouldn't affect her.

Time to get busy. "Lissa, medium-range scans and contact Base."

"Aye, Captain."

A few seconds passed. "Captain, I have Base," reported Lissa.

"Tell them all systems are normal and the cargo is intact. Then contact our passenger and tell him to be ready for landing."

"Aye, Captain," acknowledged Lissa and began transmitting.

Jenna began the landing sequences with half her mind. The other half was wondering if Avon had made any progress.

* * *

Avon looked at his splinted arm impatiently, "How long is this going to take?"

Dayna peered closely at his splint. "Not long, I think. It looks like the solvent is beginning to work. They're timing this; they'll be back when it's time to remove it. Stop moving your arm, Avon." Dayna needed to distract him. "Tell me about when you were on Horizon before."

"Oh, it was several years ago. We had followed a Federation ship to see what its interest was in this sector. There aren't any inhabited planets in this zone except for Horizon. Jenna and . . . the others had teleported down to see if it would be a good location for a base and got themselves captured by Federation guards and put to work in the mines. The people who worked in the mines were the local primitives apparently. They seemed to die off rather quickly from the radiation."

"Sounds like the Federation," Dayna commented.

"Any fool should have known it wouldn't have worked as a base. The Federation were already here and the society was accepting of it. Those not working in the mines anyway."

"So what happened? You said the others teleported down and were captured. Where were you?"

"I stayed on the ship with Orac."

"And?"

"And when I couldn't contact the others and it became apparent they were not coming back, I went down and got them."

He had left out rather a lot from the story. When he lost contact with the others after failing to prevent their going, he spent hours querying Orac about the resources on the _Liberator_. He was moments away from abandoning them entirely when a flotilla of Federation ships too large for him to fend off by himself arrived. If that hadn't happened, he would have left the others there to die.

Thinking about what he had nearly done sickened him, and Dayna asked, "Are you all right, Avon?"

"Yes, I'm fine." He smiled to distract her. Then he lifted his arm slightly and examined the splint—a better distraction.

"Put it down, Avon," she instructed. "Why doesn't Horizon make a good base?"

"As I said, there are not any inhabited planets in this sector besides Horizon, and it's pretty far out. There is a space lane out there, but the instant a ship broke from it you would know where it was going. When we were last here, Horizon didn't have any ships of its own. Even if they confiscated the ships that were on the ground when they expelled the Federation, they would not have crews trained to fly them. And there are no neighbours for mutual protection."

"It's hard to imagine," Dayna mused.

"What is?"

"Vila working," she smiled.

"I assume he did. He came back covered in grime like the rest of them and sans his shirt. That was probably the first time in his life he actually worked."

"And that's all the Feds did? Put them to work?"

"No, they interrogated them first. From what I understand, everyone gave in pretty quickly."

"Vila, quickest of all, I imagine."

"In a way. I believe he convinced them he didn't understand anything about the workings of the ship. Apparently they gave up on him straight away."

"Nobody lies as well as Vila," Dayna observed.

"Indeed." Avon wondered briefly about Vila's version of what happened at Malodar. His own memories were so real. Now he needed to distract _himself_. He lifted his arm again to inspect the progress of the solvent. Dayna kindly—and firmly—replaced it on the table for him.

* * *

Avalon's aide, Riece, was waiting for Jenna at the docking bay. The passenger he'd come to collect was very important to them, and he was to be made as comfortable as possible. He'd been a rebel sympathizer inside Space Command until recently, when it appeared his cover might be broken. He'd gotten out without breaking cover, and his knowledge was recent enough to be very helpful.

Jenna guided her passenger over to him and introduced him, "Riece, this is Jahn Durkim." She indicated Riece, "Tan Riece. He works for Avalon."

Durkim turned to her. "Thank you, Captain Stannis. I hope we'll have an opportunity to work together," he smiled and left with Riece.

"Jenna!"

"Vila! What is it?" she asked.

"It's good news, Jenna. Avon's awake—well, most of the time, anyway—he knows us, Jenna! He knows where he is!" Vila was grinning from ear to ear.

"That's wonderful, Vila. Is he aware of his injuries?"

"Yes, the doctors told him, and he seems to be taking it well." Vila stopped for a moment and looked a little puzzled. "I guess he's taking it well. He's being awfully patient, and that doesn't seem quite right." His face cleared as he added, "But he called me 'Idiot!' Isn't that wonderful?"

Jenna laughed, "Yes, Vila, that's wonderful."

"Are you going to see him?" he asked eagerly.

Her face fell. "I'm not sure, Vila. Maybe not just yet."

"But he'll be glad to see you, Jenna. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just . . . I have to see Tarrant first. I'll be along later." She turned quickly and began picking her way through the workers in the unloading area.

Vila looked after her. "It's okay, Jenna," he said to no-one. "I understand. And you'll see, Avon will understand too."

* * *

Jenna pressed the announce button at Tarrant's door. "Tarrant? It's Jenna Stannis."

There was a long pause before the door slid open. Tarrant waved her to his only chair as she stepped inside. He sat on the bed and put the bookscreen on his lap, ignoring her.

"I came to see if you'd be interested in a berth on the _Emerald Lady_. We'll be shipping out again in a couple of days, and I thought you might copilot for me," Jenna explained.

"Charity work, Stannis?"

"I don't do charity work, Tarrant, and you're not a charity case. This wouldn't be a pleasure cruise; I'd expect you to work."

He laughed harshly. "I've only just stopped running into doorframes, and you're wanting me to fly your ship? That's good. Perhaps I can defeat an entire Federation flotilla while I'm doing it—with my hand tied behind my back."

"Stopped running into doorframes? Good. That's a step. You're a pretty good pilot, I understand—"

"I was a _talented _pilot," he interrupted, accurately.

"Oh? Did you lose a piece of your brain when you lost your arm?" She challenged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm offering you a chance to prove your talent. As a spacer, I would think you'd want to get back into space as soon as possible and stop hanging around with these dirt-siders. What can they understand about the freedom of space?"

That was beginning to work. She could see him longing to get out of the two dimensionality of a planet.

"All right, Stannis. You've had your say. I'll think about it."

"Good." She went to the door and opened it. "And that's 'Captain' to you," she added smartly as she left.

Jenna paused after the door shut behind her. Tarrant was afraid to get back into the pilot's chair, just as she had been afraid to see Avon. _Time to take my own medicine_, Jenna thought. She took a deep breath and headed to the medical unit.

* * *

"Vila, I'm all right. You don't need to fuss," Avon complained.

"I'm sorry, Avon. How does your arm feel?"

"It's not hurting." _Not much._ "It just feels a little weak, that's all." Everything felt weak, but he didn't want Vila to see that. Vila's face had been so happy when he'd seen Avon in the mobile chair that Avon didn't want to disappoint him.

"How does your back feel? Is it hurting much? The doc said you could have some of the pain patches back if you need them." Vila started smoothing out the small blanket covering Avon's legs.

"It's not bad, nothing I can't deal with. The blanket's all right, Vila. Really." It was actually a bit warm, but he didn't want to tell Vila that.

"Are you sure? It's just that the doctor said people who can't move around get colder than everyone else."

"If I get cool, I'll let you know." He softened his voice a little, "Thank you, Vila." He looked thoughtful. "Vila, Naylor says there might be other . . . events that I'm confused about, like Malodar."

"Is that so bad?" Vila asked.

He couldn't meet Vila's eyes. "It might be. What if I make a mistake because I remember something wrongly?"

"People remember things wrongly all the time, Avon. It happens a lot."

"Not to me."

"Even to you. You're human, Avon, just like the rest of us."

"You used to say I was a machine, a computer."

"Yeah, and you used to say I was a 'fifth grade ignorant'," Vila reminded him.

"That was unfair. You're very intelligent, probably the most intelligent person on the _Liberator_ or _Scorpio_."

"Next to you, you mean?"

That got a faint smile.

"Look, Avon. It doesn't matter if you remember some things wrong. If you do, we'll tell you. It would only be us anyway, and we're all your friends. We don't care. Did the doctor tell you why you were confused about Malodar?"

Avon was recovering himself now that they were getting out of emotional waters. "Stress, the drugs Servalan gave me on Terminal, too many blows to the head, and . . ." He couldn't quite say 'Blake' yet.

"There you go. Nothing that couldn't happen to anyone." Vila assured him. He glanced at the window to the corridor when he saw movement there. It was Jenna, at last. She was motioning at Avon and mouthing something Vila couldn't make out. He waved at her, inviting her in. When she started for the door, he turned back to Avon.

"Avon, I have a really nice surprise for you. Another friend, one you haven't seen in a long time."

"Who, Vila? Avalon?" He tried to twist around in his chair to see.

A wonderfully clear, warm voice said softly from behind him, "No, not Avalon, Avon," and Jenna moved into view.

_Jenna!_ Avon couldn't speak, could only gaze at her, a smile spreading on his face. She sat near his knee and took his hand, smiling at him brilliantly.

"Hello, old friend. How are you?"

"Jenna," he breathed, continuing to gaze at her. "I thought you were . . . dead."

"As you can see, I'm not."

"No, as I can see. How do you come to be here?" he asked.

"I do some flying for Avalon. And some for myself; the Rebellion can't pay well enough to keep a ship going. I flew you here from Gauda Prime."

"You look wonderful, Jenna."

Vila stood up and grinned, "I think that's my cue. I'll check on you later, Avon. Bye, Jenna."

She stayed for a long time while they reminisced about the _Liberator_.

* * *

"Avalon, Jahn Durkim's here," the intercom announced.

"Thank you, Riece, send him in." She rose and came out from behind her desk, extending her hand. "Jahn, we were relieved you were able to get out. Sit down, please."

He shook her hand and took one of the chairs in front of her desk. "I was relieved to get out too; the Central Intelligence search for the mole was becoming very thorough, very abusive, and very close. I'm surprised I was able to operate for so long from Space Command Headquarters. You command a very tight organization, Avalon."

"And you were very skilled in your deception, Jahn," she returned the compliment. "We have another source at SCH. He tells us your cover is still in place. They believe you died in that groundcar accident. They didn't even bother to test the remains."

"I'm sorry my usefulness there is ended. It was exhilarating helping the rebellion that way. What plans do you have for me now?" he asked. That was his real concern. Deceiving the Feds had become an addiction, and he didn't relish the thought of sitting behind a desk checking cargo manifests. Naturally that was important work too, but it wouldn't be satisfying.

"I'd like for you to take a few days settling in, finding your way around the base, meeting people. Horizon has been very friendly to us. Some merchants, camp followers, have begun to set up a market nearby. It's quite safe for you to wander around outside for recreation. Well, as safe as anywhere these days," she amended. "Once you get comfortable," she continued, "I'd like you to work with our psychostrategist, Carnell. You can no doubt provide him with a great deal of useful information. Think of it as a debriefing if you will.

"Right now he's working on determining the extent of Blake's damage to the Rebellion; but I'd also like to try and find out what happened to Servalan, or 'Sleer' as she last called herself. I have someone here who could be a tremendous asset to us, but he's going to be in extreme danger until she can be eliminated." She laughed dryly. "He's always going to be a target for someone, but I'd like to eliminate that one."

"Who is it, Avalon? Or maybe I shouldn't ask?"

"Oh, it's all right, Jahn. You never met him, but you probably know of him. You would find out soon enough anyway. It's Kerr Avon."

"He's still alive? No information came in to SCH about him after the Gauda Prime incident. But since that was a CI operation, I didn't expect SCH would receive much information. We all assumed he'd died at Gauda Prime and the forensic crew had failed to identify him before they burned all the bodies. You're fortunate that assignment was handled so badly. You may be able to keep his survival quiet for a while. The head of the forensic crew was executed for his blunder. He was probably some half-witted political appointee."

He stroked his chin and thought for a moment. "Sleer? I suspected she was Servalan. Too many of her actions were exactly what Servalan would have done in the same circumstances. Conceited, obsessive, sometimes clever, but usually stupid in the end. She was her own worst enemy. Still will be, if she's alive," he finished.

"It's interesting you should say that. Our people spirited away one of Servalan's mutoids after Blake attacked Control on Earth. She told us about Servalan's interrogation of Kasabi." Avalon paused to explain, "We can't find a way to stop the conversion programme, Jahn; the Federation will continue to turn victims into mindless drones. But we have an operative in the facility. And we have our own secret trigger phrases. If we can get a mutoid before it's wiped and reprogrammed, it will tell us everything since the last mindwipe." She smiled and continued, "You'll appreciate this, Jahn. Just before she died, Kasabi called Servalan 'vicious, greedy, and thick'."

"And that sums it up, I'd say," he agreed.

Avalon stood. "Go and get yourself settled now, Jahn. Riece will look after you. Let him know if you need anything."

"Thank you." He stood, but hesitated. "I'd quite like to talk to Kerr Avon if it's possible."

"Not just yet, I'm afraid. He's not out of the medical unit, and he's got a dragon guarding the gate."

Avalon's mood was sombre for a few minutes after Durkim left. She was remembering the head of that forensic crew who was executed for cremating the bodies too soon. She had known him almost from the start of the Rebellion. He knew what would happen when he decided to burn the bodies before identification. _How many of us could be so brave?_

Well, Durkim had been useful, no doubt about that. But what was she going to do with him now? He couldn't be placed back in a Federation military setting; too many people might recognise him. When he had said his usefulness at SCH was ended, he had spoken a mouthful. If only he hadn't run so soon . . .

"If only" wasn't going to help; it was too late for regrets. After Carnell finished with him, she'd have to see if she could insert him into one of the rival rebel groups. Some of them were becoming very worrisome. Their leaders had grand plans of shaping the Federation in ways that would be no better than what it was now—the people at the top would look different, but they'd be doing all the same corrupt, selfish things.

But she could put that off for a short while. For now she'd make sure Durkim spent as much time as possible with Carnell. Leaning over to press the intercom button, she said, "Riece? Would you ask Carnell when I could see him?"

* * *

Carnell leaned back in his chair with satisfaction. Of course he would drain every last piece of information out of Durkim. Avalon needn't have asked. He needed that information to pursue Servalan. And when he found her, he'd make sure she knew who was responsible for destroying her.

It had been fun, playing that little game with her over Coser. Servalan had greedily wanted to get her hands on some unusual weapon he was said to have developed. Servalan always wanted new toys. She thought this one would be some sort of free ticket to control of the universe, her universe anyway. Who cared if she killed Coser or anyone else? They were just stepping stones.

Of course, she had thought getting her hands on the supercomputer Orac would give her control over the universe too. Then she'd messed it up by pausing to gloat over her prize, and Kerr Avon had come along and rescued his colleagues. She should have let Travis kill them immediately. Carnell was grateful to have had the opportunity to interview Travis after that incident. It had given him better insight into Servalan's personality. But he almost didn't get that opportunity. Servalan had, as usual, sought to place blame for her failure on someone else, and Travis had been bright enough to take himself off pretty smartly. She had underestimated him. Come to think of it, Servalan always underestimated people. Carnell would be happy to point that out to her someday, at length if possible.

His face darkened. If her incompetent sycophants at the Weapons Development Base had reported _all _the events there as they should, his plan wouldn't have failed, and he wouldn't have had to run. It had been amusing having all those powerful game pieces to play with.

And after she botched that affair, Servalan had gotten nervous, as usual. She'd sent Travis to murder the Clone Masters, who had made the whole scheme possible by producing those clones of Blake. Carnell was enraged over that. How dare she destroy his colleagues, his _family? _He'd see that she paid in pain for that.

If he didn't do it himself, he would contrive to have Kerr Avon do it. That would be just as galling to her, probably even more so. Servalan had pursued Avon for years, always just failing to catch him. Fool woman. If she'd satisfied herself with killing him, she could have been done with him years earlier. But she wanted to possess him. He would be another of her magic toys for gaining control of the universe. She told herself it was so she could make use of his intellect, when it was really because she wanted to seduce him into joining her, a mate fit for the Supreme Empress, her last self-awarded title before her fall from power. She actually believed he could be persuaded to be her consort. Everything Carnell knew about Avon indicated it would have to be the other way around—he wouldn't tolerate a subordinate role.

He pulled open a drawer and took out a concentrate pak; it was time to eat. He didn't really care what he ate; anything would do. Most people complained the concentrate paks had little flavour. But nothing had any flavour to Carnell. The Clone Masters had made a tiny mistake, and it had left him without a sense of taste.

* * *

Dayna was on her way to see Tarrant. She hadn't been to see him in several days because he had made it increasingly clear to her and Vila that he didn't want anyone disturbing his journey to oblivion. Well, she was going to disturb it now. Of course losing a limb was bad, but you got over it and went on, didn't you? Jenna's navigator had lost his eye. He seemed to be doing all right. He didn't spend his days sunk in self pity. Dayna liked Doctor Naylor, but she didn't think the psychologist was doing enough to get Tarrant back to normal. After all, it had been nearly four weeks now. Surely that was enough time.

Tarrant probably wouldn't thank her for it, but she was going to make Tarrant go see Avon. And if she couldn't get him to do that, she would at least tell him how Avon was doing. After all, _Avon _had asked about _Tarrant_, hadn't he?

Dayna pressed the announce button, "Tarrant, it's Dayna. Can I come in?" The door slid open. "I just wanted to talk to you about—what are you doing?" She saw the duffel bag on the chair, half full. "You're not leaving?"

"Only for a little time." He placed some more things in the bag.

"But why? Where are you going? Is there something wrong here?"

"I'm going to find out if I'm good for anything."

"What?"

"Jenna Stannis came by a couple of days ago. She said I could go on a run with her as copilot, to see if I can still fly," he explained.

"That's wonderful, isn't it? You don't look very happy."

He sighed and sat down. "I don't know what's going to happen. What if I can't fly, Dayna? I couldn't have flown the _Scorpio_ with one arm."

"The _Scorpio_ was an old rust bucket that needed six people to fly it properly. We only had five. Besides, you could have flown the _Liberator_ with one finger," she insisted.

"This won't be the _Liberator_. And it won't have an A/I ship's computer like Zen."

"And hopefully it won't have a moronic ship's computer like Slave. After what you were able to do with the _Scorpio_, you should be able to fly something better with no trouble. I'm glad you're going, Tarrant. You can't spend your life sitting here."

"And if I can't fly?" he asked.

"Then you'll find something else to do with flying. You can't get away from it," she assured him.

He zipped the bag shut. "Well, we'll see. It should only be a few days, and then I'll know." They walked to the door.

"Come and find me when you get back, Del. I'll be wanting to know how it turns out." She moved briskly down the corridor, having forgotten her original purpose.

Tarrant stared after her. That was the first time she'd ever used his given name.

* * *

The crewwoman looked up at the young man in front of her. He was wearing spacer gear and had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was also looking very hesitant. "Can I help you, skyman?"

"I'm Del Tarrant. I think Captain Stannis is expecting me."

"You're taking the copilot's chair? I'm Dase, the engineer. Is your bag tagged? You can just put it over there; I'll put it in your cabin for you. Cap's on the flightdeck, up the ramp and to your left." She pointed vaguely in that direction. "Maybe we can talk later?" She smiled.

_That went well_, he thought as he ascended the ramp. _She didn't stare at the empty sleeve._ His step got a little more confident.

_That went well_, she thought. _Cap said he had an attitude, but he seemed nice enough._

Finally he found the flightdeck. 'Up the ramp and to the left' was not quite adequate. He had tried to open three doors before he found the right one. One was a storage compartment, and he'd nearly walked into it. Happily no-one had seen him. The joke was on him: the flightdeck door was the only one that _wasn't _closed. He entered the flightdeck with relief. There were a couple of crew there: a woman tinkering around under the raised work surface of her console; and a man with an eyepatch, checking instrument calibrations on another console.

The man turned around. "Hello. You must be our copilot, Del Tarrant." He thrust his left hand out to Tarrant. Startled that the man had offered his left hand instead of his right, Tarrant hesitated briefly before shaking hands with him. The man continued, "I'm Earn Devril, navigation. That's Lissa Brin over there. She's our communications officer."

Lissa turned around and smiled at him. "Captain Stannis called you 'Tarrant.' Is that what you prefer?"

"Yes, thank you. That's what I'm most used to. Is Captain Stannis aboard?"

"Yes, she'll be back in a few minutes. She's seeing to the stowing of some cargo. Dev, why don't you go over some of the controls with him while I finish this board?"

"Over here, Tarrant. It's a standard Solar Wind class ship. Have you ever flown one of these?"

"Yes, back before the Andromedan War."

"Well, you shouldn't have any trouble. We haven't tricked out the pilot's board, so everything will be where you expect it. We've added some useful little gadgets though. Some communications functions are in this array in case you need them and Lissa's not at her console." He pointed at another grouping of buttons and switches. "That will show some standard navigation readouts and allow simple calculations, though you can't really do much navigation from here.

"And this is the prize: degaussing for the hull. I usually run that from my station, but it's here if you need it. Horizon is surrounded by an energy barrier, courtesy of the Federation. If your hull's magnetized when you enter it, you won't be coming out in good shape, if at all. The generators are on Horizon's surface and are nuclear, so they won't be running out of power."

Jenna entered the flightdeck then. "Tarrant, glad to see you aboard."

"Glad to be aboard, Captain."

"You've met Dev and Lissa?" He nodded. "Good. We're ready to leave now. Lissa, get clearance from the base."

Lissa turned to her console. After a few moments she announced, "Clearance confirmed."

Jenna indicated a flight chair. "That's the copilot chair. I'll take us up because you don't have experience with the barrier. It's a problem both from inside and out. Dev, lock course for clearing docking." Jenna set some switches and pressed the button for the main drive. The _Emerald Lady_ began lifting slowly. When it was still just within the atmosphere, she instructed Lissa to set the long-range scans and Dev to key in the escape trajectory.

She addressed Tarrant, "This is the part I hate. We don't want to give away the base location too easily, so we fly just within the atmosphere for a while before breaking it. Uses up a lot of fuel, and the _Lady _is sluggish. So far, the Feds haven't thought to look for us here, and we'd like to keep it that way. We also schedule our flights so we can keep the planet between us and the space lane as long as possible, just in case someone has slipped through the barrier. I expect it will happen one of these days. The Feds will remember Horizon eventually. They'll be wanting the monopasium mines when they think they can afford to start working on their intergalactic drive designs again. The Andromedan invasion did us a real service there, unintentionally. The Feds have been working too hard rebuilding the regular fleet to worry about restarting their intergalactic ship program."

Dev cut in, "Escape point in ten seconds, Captain."

"Thanks, Dev," Jenna acknowledged. "But warn me sooner next time."

"Sorry," he grinned. "Didn't like to interrupt a lady."

She smiled and preset various switches. "Have you followed everything so far, Tarrant?"

"Yes, the controls seem like what I'm used to. I'll be interested in seeing the re-entry procedures."

"Dev, warn me at two hundred spacials," Jenna instructed. "Interrupt me," she smiled. Addressing Tarrant again, she explained, "The barrier is one point five thousand spacials out. The _Lady _can just manage to degauss adequately within one hundred spacials on either side of the barrier at point zero one C with twenty-three seconds to spare. I prefer two hundred spacials." She smiled. "Don't leave it too late."

"Whew! That's pretty slow if you're being pursued," Tarrant said.

Jenna replied, "I've seen Federation pursuit ships hit that barrier at TD six without degaussing. There wasn't anything left worth salvaging."

"When was that? I thought the Feds hadn't been here since before the War."

"Oh, a few years ago." Jenna grew quiet and stared out the forward visport.

"Two hundred spacials, Captain," announced Dev.

Jenna cut speed and answered, "Thanks, Dev. Degauss and warn me in ten."

"Aye, Captain."

It grew quiet again. Jenna was pensive, Dev and Lissa busy, and Tarrant found himself becoming excited about getting into space again. _I can settle for copilot if it'll keep me in space. Hell, I could settle for Waste Disposal Monitor to stay in space_, he thought.

"Ten seconds, Captain," Dev announced.

"Thanks, Dev. Lissa, go to minimum scans. Hold onto your seat, Tarrant."

Three . . . two . . . one . . . barrier. Jenna shuddered at the creepy crawly feeling all over her. She glanced at Tarrant. He had a peculiar look on his face, which cleared about the time her crawly feeling did.

"You okay, Tarrant?" she asked.

"Yes, I thought I felt something though. Like something touching me."

"Congratulations, Tarrant," Lissa laughed. "You're the only one besides the Captain who can feel it."

Jenna grinned. "Long-range scans for one full sweep, then cut to medium, Lissa. Take us out, Tarrant. It's all yours."

He had been automatically checking the readouts—old habits die hard—and noted, "Xaranar. What's our cargo?"

"Monopasium."

"For intergalactic drive design?"

"That's what they're working on there. Since the Federation hasn't resumed its intergalactic program yet, Xaranar plans to do some preemptive exploring; it's what they're good at. The Feds undoubtedly had something else in mind with their programme," she remarked.

"Conquest?" Tarrant asked.

"Either that or 'let's get them before they get us'."

After a few minutes Tarrant asked, "What exactly happened at Star One? I mean before the battle started in earnest."

"Blake thought we could take control of the computer there and bring the Federation to its knees, or at least to the bargaining table." Jenna was deliberately glossing over that part of the plan. Blake had intended to destroy Star One, a plan that had distressed even his ardent follower Cally. "He and Cally entered the facility only to discover it was in the possession of aliens who were waiting for Travis. I was never clear why that was.

"Vila and I spotted their invasion fleet waiting for the defences to be lowered about the time Travis showed up. Blake was shot, and Avon rescued him." _As usual_, she added to herself.

She continued, "So Avon killed Travis, he and Cally removed the bombs Blake and Cally had placed, and they teleported back. For some reason, part of the defences _were _lowered. I never knew why that was either. But it was enough. The Andromedans started coming through. I had put out a call for help, but it was several hours before any arrived."

Tarrant asked, "And Blake held them off until help arrived?"

How odd that Tarrant had lived with Avon for four years and didn't know. "No, _Avon _held them off. If you want to see courage under fire, you just look at Avon. Blake was in the medical unit for hours. Even when he was recovered enough to help, he just stayed in his cabin. Other ships started arriving to help, but Avon stayed on the flightdeck directing the _Liberator's_ part in the battle for more than thirty-six hours. We all had to take turns piloting. Finally enough ships arrived that we could take brief breaks from the fighting, but it went on for several days. Did you know that Avon's a very good pilot? No? He hates piloting. I don't know why, but he does.

"By that time the fight was no longer centred around Star One. Enough alien ships had gotten through to destroy Star One, and the defences collapsed utterly. Everyone began dispersing as each ship chased individual targets. Gradually it took us longer and longer to find targets, but we kept at it. We were still having to take turns piloting. I'll bet you didn't know Vila's a pretty fair pilot too, did you? It frightens him though.

"I think it was about two weeks after the start of hostilities when we blundered into a sort of small ambush. Three of the enemy had managed to stay together, or maybe they'd just gotten lucky and found each other. I don't know, and it doesn't matter. We were tired, and we got surprised. We managed to destroy them, but the _Liberator _was so badly damaged the auto repair systems couldn't keep life support going. I had gone to get some sleep when Avon gave the order to abandon ship. My cabin was near Blake's, so I made sure he got into a life capsule. He didn't want to go; I only learned why later. But I got him away from the _Liberator_. Then Avon came along and put me in a capsule too. He shoved a bag of enormous emeralds into my hand, and I used them to get the _Lady_. But that was the last time, I saw the _Liberator_," she finished a little sadly.

"Has anyone ever figured out why the Andromedans invaded?" Tarrant asked.

"Conquest?" Jenna suggested.

"Or 'let's get them before they get us'," he echoed.

"It could be any number of reasons. We stopped the invasion, at least as far as we know. Maybe there are some still around. Who knows? Maybe they'll try again. Or maybe that was just a small, belligerent faction of Andromedans. We don't know anything about them, do we? I never heard of one being captured and interrogated."

"Could you interrogate an Andromedan? They're some sort of shapeshifters, I heard. How could you physically threaten something that can change shape to thwart you? If you haven't had specimens to experiment on, how would you know what drugs to use on them?" Tarrant asked.

"You'd have to wait for a traitor to make himself—itself available. Maybe one did already. Maybe that's why there was a minefield out there." Jenna shivered at the thought of how close the invaders had come to destroying mankind. _Could Blake have been involved somehow?_ "I'm going to get some rest. Call me if there's anything that makes you nervous."

* * *

"Once more . . . that's good. Okay, you can stop now." Task took the weight from Avon's hand and set it aside. "You're doing very well. That's five more times today than yesterday. Are you finding it easier to use your arm now?"

"Yes, a little," admitted a grey-faced and perspiring Avon. The therapy on his arm was clearly helping but was tiring. "How many more sessions do you think I'll need?" He was afraid to hear the answer.

"Probably just five or six more. You've made good progress. Your left arm isn't your dominant arm, so you can't expect it to be as strong as your right. If you feel up to it, you could use the weight some more on your own. I'll leave it here for you. Oh, hello, Dayna," he greeted as she joined them.

"Task," she returned. "How is he doing?" She smiled at Avon.

"Very well. He won't need to keep this up for long."

"Good thing too. You're looking a bit tired, Avon," she commented as Task smiled goodbye and left. She curled herself into the chair next to Avon's bed. "Pretty rough, is it?"

"It's a challenge," Avon cautiously admitted. His pride had begun reasserting itself; he didn't want Dayna to see how weak he was.

She reached over to his table and poured a glass of water, offering it to him. "Drink?"

"Yes, thank you." He reached awkwardly across his chest and took it in his right hand. His left arm was too shaky to trust. "They're letting me have concentrate paks now," he said to distract her from his weakness. "It doesn't taste like much, but it's a relief." He lifted his arm to display the absence of nutrient patches.

"They took all the pain patches off then?" He nodded and handed the glass back to her. "That would explain the way you look," she said.

"The way I look?"

"A little grey and shaky. Are you hurting?"

_Yes!_ "No, not really."

She laughed, "Task: they call him 'Task Master'."

_That's an understatement_, Avon thought. "Where's Vila?" he asked.

"I think he's off talking to Carnell. Have you met him?"

"No. He's a psychostrategist, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's working for Avalon." She paused and looked at him uneasily. "He's trying to determine . . . trying to determine how some of the rebel groups were betrayed to the Feds. You know, when it could have happened, whether there were Federation agents infiltrated, that sort of thing. If they can work that out, they can find the agents and eliminate them if they're still operating."

That was close. She'd almost talked about Blake, and she wanted to leave that to Vila. She changed the subject, "I think Tarrant's going to be better. He left with Jenna today; she asked him to copilot the flight. It's the first time I've seen him do anything since we got here."

Avon was uncomfortable. He knew Tarrant must blame him for the fiasco at Gauda Prime, for losing the _Liberator_, for losing the _Scorpio_, for losing his arm, probably for everything bad that had happened to him in the last couple of years. _And he's right_, Avon thought. _I damaged so many lives—the ones I didn't end outright. What was it that Tarrant had said? 'I've made a success of my life; but you, you've failed.' Tarrant was right: I _am_ a failure._

"Avon? Are you all right?" Dayna asked, concerned.

Forcing a smile, he answered, "Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking about Tarrant shipping out with Jenna. I'm sure he'll do fine, Dayna. He's a talented pilot; it's instinctive with him. It'll be good for him."

"I think so too," she agreed.


	3. Chapter 3

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 3 of 12

Vila was nervous. He was going to see Carnell, the psychostrategist. His previous experience with psyche techs was when they'd tried numerous times to "cure" his thieving. They had always ended up hurting him in some way. Vila had tried to avoid Carnell, but Avalon had asked him to go there. She said they had proofs of Blake's treachery, his betrayals. She said Vila could be vital to Carnell's uncovering of infiltrators in the Rebellion. He had his doubts that anything he knew could be vital to anyone, but Avalon had been very nice and gentle with him. He certainly owed her something. She was letting Avon and him live on her base, taking care of them. Vila Restal knew how to pay his debts.

Besides, he wanted to learn more about Blake, to understand why the man he'd believed in had so callously tried to get him captured or killed. Well, maybe not him specifically, but it still felt personal.

In the beginning he thought it was going to be so exciting. Vila Restal—Revolutionary Hero. That's how he'd secretly styled himself. It had been his chance to be something more than Vila Restal—petty thief. Everyone had daydreams of being something special. Vila was no different from anyone else.

It had been frightening though. Blake had kept putting him in scary situations, denying him choice. And Vila had the right to choose, even if he was a Delta. He remembered Albion. Blake had promised they'd teleport out when the countdown on the solium bomb reached a certain point. When Vila had started to call for teleport, Blake had grabbed his arm and stopped him. While he was restraining Vila's arm, Blake had broken his teleport bracelet so he couldn't possibly leave until someone brought him another bracelet. Vila knew that was deliberate. Blake had squeezed so tightly on the bracelet that he had hurt Vila's wrist.

Vila had been so frightened that he'd gotten sickeningly drunk when he got back to the _Liberator_. Avon had found him in his cabin. Heaven knows why Avon had come looking for him, but he found Vila in a miserable state. Still scared witless, he'd told Avon everything. Avon hadn't said much, but he gone immediately to Blake and read him the riot act. Vila could hear them shouting at each other all the way into his cabin. That had scared him too.

* * *

Carnell was looking forward to interviewing Vila Restal. People underestimated his type. Petty thieves were on the fringes of society, so people treated them as though everything about them was fringe. But people on the fringes were often in the best position to see and hear everything. Blake had probably treated Vila with no more caution than he would have treated a chair. He was there, he served a useful purpose, but he wasn't possessed of a brain. But thieves were observant. They had to be in order to survive. Carnell was going to treat Vila Restal with kid gloves.

"Ah, Vila! Come in, sit down. I was hoping you'd come to see me," Carnell smiled in his most ingratiating manner. "Do you know what I'm working on for Avalon?"

Vila nervously took a seat. "Yes, you're . . . ummm . . . trying to work out what Blake did. I mean, when he shopped us, things like that."

"Yes, so anything you can tell me would be helpful. It's not just figuring out what Blake did though. It's important to determine what he _didn't _do as well. That could lead us to some more agents. When did you first meet him?"

"On Earth. Well, barely. It was just before they put us on the prison ship to Cygnus Alpha. I tried to steal his watch."

"Only tried? I think you're a better thief than that, Vila," he chided.

"I was nervous. I'd been on a prison ship before, going to the juvenile correction facility. It was a really bad experience in my life."

More than just bad, it had been horrific. They didn't care whom they put together on those ships, and the undersized adolescent thief had been easy prey for bigger boys who had committed violent crimes. The whole three years had been terrible, but it had made him a better thief—one who hadn't been caught again for nearly twenty years. If he hadn't been trying to juggle too many false identities, he wouldn't have been caught and sent to Cygnus Alpha. They didn't give you a second chance, really. That time was supposed to be for life.

"Anyway," he continued, "that's where we met. Blake seemed nice enough. At least he didn't try to bully me as much as some of the other prisoners had done. He was a higher grade than most of us, and I thought I would be safe with him. A funny thing, isn't it? I was leery of Avon—he smelled like trouble all over—but in the end, he was the one who always took care of me." He stopped. He was straying into an area he didn't want to discuss with Carnell. Avon was very private, and their relationship wasn't something Carnell needed to know about. Besides, he had never understood it himself.

"But you attached yourself to Blake, didn't you?"

"Yes, and he did come back for me on Cygnus Alpha. Well, anyone who would go with him, I guess. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have survived. There was a maniac high priest of some crazy religion there. You either joined up, or you died. I expect it was very easy to die even if you joined up. Anyway, Blake got me out of there. And Gan too. Gan was my best friend, until he died."

"I believe he died on Earth, didn't he?" Carnell prompted.

"Yes, it was when Blake thought he could take over Federation Central Control, only it wasn't really. Control, I mean. It was all a hoax. Just a big, empty room. Blake was so stunned he just fell to his knees, clutching Avon. And then Travis showed up, laughing about it. He said Control had been moved thirty years before that. You think that's what did it to Blake? Made him start betraying people?"

"Not precisely. What actually drove him to betrayal was the manipulation the Federation did with his mind. You see, when they removed some of his memories, they didn't put in anything to replace them. Then they overlaid his personality with a different personality, that of a loyal Federation citizen who would be appalled at the idea of rebellion. They left him with two mutually exclusive personalities," he explained.

"And you think he started betraying people then?" Vila asked.

"No, not actual betrayals, at least not deliberately. But he may have been subconsciously sabotaging rebel activities—and himself—then. We can't really know about the massacre at the rebel meeting where he was caught because there's no one else still alive who was involved. Do you have any idea how it was that Travis could have been waiting for you on Earth at Control?"

Vila searched his memory and ventured, "Could he have learned it from someone in Kasabi's organization?"

"Possibly. We think the Feds were tipped about two or three weeks before your raid. Do you remember when Blake first presented his plan?"

"Not anything like two or three weeks. I think it was only a couple of days. And even then he said it was only to look at the perimeter defences. He didn't tell us the rest of it until two or three hours before we got there." Vila looked thoughtful. "But Blake never liked to tell us his crazy plans until just before time to do them. I used to think it was because he didn't want Avon to talk him out of them, but now I think it was so Avon couldn't convince the rest of us not to go along." He looked at Carnell. "Funny how your ideas can change, isn't it? I always thought Avon went along with Blake because he was really a follower, like the rest of us, even though he wouldn't admit it. But maybe it was because there wasn't time to change everyone's mind and he was just doing his best to keep us safe. Maybe that's all he ever wanted to do: keep us safe." He was straying again.

Carnell could see Vila was becoming uneasy, and he didn't want to lose the resource. "Why don't you give it some thought? Maybe something will occur to you, more odd circumstances. One or two of Kasabi's people weren't involved in the ambush. We're trying to track them now."

Vila was relieved to end the interview. He needed to spend some time thinking all right. But not about Blake. About Avon.

Carnell wanted to think about Avon too. Vila hadn't told him anything he didn't already know about Blake's absurd plan to take Control, but he had told Carnell a great deal about Avon. He'd better tell Avalon she should talk to Avon soon about finding that computer she wanted, while he was still likely to feel indebted to her.

* * *

Dayna was setting Avon's empty dishes on the trolley when she looked up and saw Vila standing at the corridor window with Avalon. He looked uneasy but nodded quickly to her, indicating it was all right for Avalon to enter.

Dayna turned to Avon, "There's someone here to see you, Avon. It's Avalon." She pushed the trolley to one side and left. Vila would tell her about it later.

"Avon." Avalon offered her hand. Avon shook it briefly.

"Avalon, I need to thank—" he began.

"I'll get right to my purpose, Avon. We need your help," she interrupted, taking a chair next to his bed.

"Of course, anything I can do." He looked at his prone body a little helplessly.

"Not out of gratitude, Avon, and only if you really want to do this. There are no strings; you're welcome to stay here as long as you like." Collecting her thoughts, she continued, "I had a very important visitor today. His name is Durkim." She paused for emphasis. "He was Servalan's aide at Space Command Headquarters."

She had his full attention now. "Yes, I thought you might find that interesting. He's going to be able to give us some very detailed information, much more so than he was able to do when he was there. He's going to be working with Carnell. You've heard about him?"

"Yes, he's trying to uncover Federation agents infiltrated into rebel groups," Avon affirmed.

No mention of Blake. Perhaps he didn't know yet. Avalon wasn't going to be the one to tell him either. "That's right. Carnell also has another project now. He's going to be working with Durkim to try and find Servalan and—"

"Servalan's dead," Avon interrupted.

"Are you sure?"

"I shot her on Gauda Prime." He wasn't looking at her any longer, just staring into some bleak landscape.

"Did you check her body? It wasn't found."

Now he looked at her. "I shot her . . . I know . . . I shot her." His face grew distressed.

"When, Avon? Exactly when did you shoot her?"

"After I shot . . . after everyone else was shot. There were troopers all around me, and she came in, gloating, smiling that evil cat smile. That's when I did it. I knew she had to die even though her troops would kill me. It was worth it, you see. I told her once before that it might be worth dying if I could take her with me. She didn't believe me." He was almost pleading now.

Gently Avalon said, "Avon, she wasn't there. My people entered the room just before you were shot. They saw your people there, on the floor. You were standing over . . ." She almost said 'Blake's body.' " They saw you standing. But there was no one else down in there except three of . . . three other rebels."

He couldn't speak; he just kept staring, his face looking more bleak. Quickly Avalon went out to Vila.

"I'm sorry, Vila. I've upset him, and I didn't mean to. I'll find Naylor. You stay with him." She walked briskly down the corridor while Vila ran to Avon.

"Avon? What is it? What's wrong? Avon!" Vila pulled Avon's face around and forced him to make eye contact.

"Vila, I killed Servalan at Gauda Prime; I'm sure I did. But Avalon says she wasn't there. I know I remember it, but she wasn't there."

Vila was horrified. Avon looked as though he might cry, the way he looked at Gauda Prime when he realized Blake betrayed him. Vila couldn't deal with that. Avon had to be strong, for him, for all of them.

"Get a hold of yourself, Avon," he said harshly, grabbing Avon's shoulders and shaking him a little. "You just remembered something wrong again, that's all." He shook Avon harder. "Listen to me. Every time you find out the truth about your memories, you'll get better. Do you hear me? Straighten up! I need you to be strong. You owe me. I followed you around and fell in with all your crazy ideas. That's worth something. _Avon_!"

Unwillingly Avon looked at him. His face began to clear slowly, to grow firmer. "I'm . . . sorry, Vila . . . I . . . It won't happen again. You're right. I owe you."

Naylor came in, nearly running, followed closely by Tabor. "Avon! Vila! What's wrong?" she asked urgently, looking from one to the other.

It was Avon who answered. "It's all right, Doctor. I just . . . remembered something wrongly." His voice grew stronger. "Vila, tell Avalon I'd like to speak with her, but you stay too. Will you?"

"Sure, Avon, anything you say," he smiled encouragingly and went to the door to get Avalon.

Tabor picked up Avon's wrist and checked his pulse. "Your heart rate's a little fast, Avon. How do you feel?"

"I'm all right, Doctor. I feel better now. I was just surprised, that's all. Doctor Naylor, maybe you could stay for a few minutes if Avalon doesn't object."

"I don't object, Avon," Avalon said. "Doctor Tabor, could you stay too? Are you sure you're ready to go on, Avon?"

"Yes. You said you need my help finding Servalan. I need to find her too."

Avalon looked at the faces around her for permission to continue. Vila nodded at her. "Very well," she said. "I was telling Avon that Carnell believes Servalan is alive. She's a dangerous woman, and we need to eliminate that threat. Avon agrees."

Addressing Avon, she asked, "I know you had a computer that could directly access the Federation's computers, didn't you?"

"Yes, Orac."

"If you had that computer, could you use it to search for clues to Servalan's whereabouts?"

Avon looked hesitant. Then, "Yes. Maybe. It wasn't much help when I was searching for Bl—" He began again, "It wasn't much help in another search, but it might be worth trying."

Avalon said, "Where is Orac, Avon? Did you have it with you on Gauda Prime? My people haven't reported finding anything that sounds like a computer to me."

"I hid it on the way into the rebel base there."

"Could you tell us where you hid it? Would we be able to find it?"

"I could draw you a diagram, I think. But I'd like to go too." He added hastily, "Oh, I could stay on the ship; you wouldn't have to cart me around with you. Can't I do that, Tabor? I can sit up in the mobile chair for more time now. And Vila might be willing to help me. Or someone might."

"Of course I'll help," Vila assured him. "But can't we wait a little longer? I think you ought to be stronger before you go on a ship."

"I agree," interposed Tabor. "I don't want him trying anything that strenuous yet. It takes a long time for spinal damage to heal, and I don't want to risk leaving him in a permanently damaged state. It will just have to wait, or you'll have to try it without him." It sounded final.

Avalon considered for a moment. "Very well. We'll wait. Let me know when you agree he might be able to try. I need to get back to my office now. Thank you, Avon."

Tabor moved to the door. "Don't stay too long," he told the others.

Naylor asked, "Avon, do you need to discuss any of this?"

"No, Doctor, not right now. I'll call you later if I could."

"Very well. Later then." She left.

"Vila, would you stay for a while?" Avon asked.

"Sure, Avon, anything for you."

"Really?"

"No, not really. It just sounded good."

* * *

Wrell's aide rapped sharply on the door and entered. "Avalon to see you, Sir."

"Ask her to come in, Partel." He pushed some papers out of the way on his desk.

"General Wrell, I have something I think you'll be very interested in." Avalon took a chair in front of his desk. "Something that might give us a useful tool against the Federation, or at least deprive _them _of a useful tool."

"What is it?"

"A computer." She smiled. "A computer that can read their computers and even use them for our purposes."

"It can get us information on ship movements, troop deployment, things like that?"

"Yes, if the owner will let us use it for that. If not, we'll want to make sure the Feds don't get it and use it to read our computers," she explained.

"Why wouldn't the owner let us use it? Who _is _the owner?"

"Kerr Avon. We need him—and his computer. I don't want to antagonize him by trying to take it away from him. As valuable as the computer is, he's even more valuable. And we can't let ourselves use Federation methods, no matter how much advantage it would give us."

Wrell frowned. "Kerr Avon? Didn't he steal five million from the Federation Banking System? Not reluctant about taking what _he _wants, is he?"

"I heard it was closer to five _hundred _million, from the Cartel," she smiled.

"Maybe it was both. The Cartel's not likely to pursue a prosecution—too embarrassing. They would probably have offered him a job if the federal system hadn't convicted him. I wonder if he has access to any of that money now? We could surely use it for the Rebellion." Wrell was envisioning more ships, better equipment for his fighters.

Avalon speculated, "Maybe he never got anything. I spent some time with Blake's people a few years ago after they rescued me from Travis. Avon talked as though he's a very selfish person, but his actions were anything but. He's a very private person, and somehow I came away wondering if he might have been covering for someone else when he was convicted." She shook her head. "I don't know. The man's a maze of contradictions, and it's none of my business. I should think if he had the money, he would never have followed Blake. What matters here is that he can help us if he wishes, if we make him feel comfortable."

Wrell asked, "So where is this computer? I assume there's some significant risk to getting it, or you wouldn't be here."

"Back on Gauda Prime."

Wrell groaned, "That worthless planet!"

"The mining interests don't think it's worthless. The Federation doesn't either." She held up her hand before he could speak. "Yes, I know what you mean. It was always a bad choice for a rebel base. But that's where it is. Avon says he hid it before entering the base. We need to get there and find it before anyone else does."

"When?"

"I'm not sure. Avon says he can draw a diagram of where he hid it, but he wants to come along," she said.

"I hadn't heard he was out of the medical unit."

"He's not. And Tabor doesn't want him going anywhere in his current condition; he's still not able to move about on his own. But I believe we need to do this as soon as possible. I may be able to talk Tabor into letting Avon go in another week, but he still won't be in any state to go leading your people around. Any suggestions?" she asked.

Wrell thought for a few moments. "Yes. He needn't leave the ship if my team is equipped with helmet cams. We'll give them A/V linkage, and Avon can see what they're seeing. He can direct them remotely." He looked at Avalon. "That's the best I can think of. And if he's that important to you, it's probably best not to haul him all over that miserable planet."

"It sounds good," she agreed. "Would you be ready in a week?"

"Yes, I know the area, and a couple of my people were there during the fight. I can have everything in place by then. You see what you can do with Tabor." Wrell stood, eager to start planning the operation.

Avalon stood and extended her hand to him. "Thank you, General. I think you may be our greatest asset."

* * *

Durkim stepped into Carnell's office with interest. He'd heard of the psychostrategist at Space Command Headquarters but had never seen him. Servalan was said to have spent a great deal of time closeted with Carnell not long before a lunatic weapons designer named Coser killed most of his coworkers at the Federation Weapons Development Base and fled with some sort of new weapon. The whole thing must have been a dead loss. After a brief absence from headquarters, Servalan had come back with Travis in tow, and both of them were in a foul mood. Perhaps Carnell would enlighten him.

"Sit down. You are Jahn Durkim, are you not? My name is Carnell." He smiled charmingly at Durkim and offered a chair.

"Thank you. I've been looking forward to meeting you. Avalon thought we might advance the analysis of Blake's actions and possibly discover Servalan's whereabouts."

"When did you begin working at SCH?" Carnell asked.

"Just after Space Commander Travis went missing the first time. There was some general shakeup of the staff then. Nearly all of us were brought in new at the same time. I heard most of the staff we replaced had been sent to a penal colony for treason, but I found it a little difficult to believe so many loyal Federation officers would suddenly develop a conscience and decide to do something about it. I also found it hard to believe that they would all engage in such gross stupidity as to give themselves away en masse."

"And you were correct to do so. As you've guessed, they were all sacrificed to hide an . . . irregularity . . . at SCH," Carnell explained. "That probably drew more attention than the problem it was intended to conceal, but Servalan was desperate. She could never think clearly enough when she was under pressure."

Durkim smiled. "As I witnessed many times. When the central control computer at Star One began failing, she was frantic. She was shrieking at everyone and accusing them of treason. There were armed guards in her office searching everyone who came in. Computer controlled climate and navigation systems were failing on some of the outer worlds, but treason? It didn't make sense. She was raving about plots too, and she used that as an excuse to depose or execute the President and Council. I thought that was surely a serious mistake on her part."

"Oh, it was," Carnell agreed. "That single act was probably the most important cause of her downfall later. Add to it the way she absented herself while chasing around looking for Kerr Avon, and it was sure to backfire. She was obsessed with power, and he stood to take it away from her."

"She knew about Blake?"

"Not at first, I don't think. That's one of the things I hope to find out. But Avon was enough by himself to bring her down, had he wanted to." Carnell mused aloud, "I've often wondered why he didn't do it."

"What does he say about it?"

"I haven't had the pleasure of talking with him yet. I'm sure it will be very profitable when I do." Carnell urged, "But let's get busy on our current assignments: what exactly were Blake's betrayals, and where could Servalan be?"

"I remember her receiving an anonymous message not long before Central Control on Earth was attacked," Durkim said and hastened to add, "but that might not have been from Blake. It could have been one of Kasabi's people willing to sell her out. I doubt it was a Central Intelligence mole in Kasabi's group. CI seemed not to be under Servalan's control. They must have possessed some very powerful information about her to escape her grip. They rarely reported anything to SCH.

"As far as I know, none of Kasabi's people escaped that ambush save her daughter. If they didn't die in the initial attack, they were executed almost immediately thereafter, in secret. I understand Veron Kasabi is still a thorn in the side of the Federation on Earth. Have you had contact with her?"

"No, we haven't. I don't think anyone we're in contact with has either. She must have learned the secrecy lesson well to still be operating all this time—if she's still operating. She would only be about nineteen or twenty years old now. One wonders what it has done to her." Carnell smiled that charming smile again. "But I digress. Can you tell me about any tips that might have been received just before any of the incidents where Federation ships nearly caught up with the _Liberator_?"

"Yes, we actually knew when the _Liberator_ was going to be in the vicinity of Brindle's World. That message was interesting in that it came from somewhere in the area around Albian. Do you know what happened there?" Durkim asked.

"Wasn't that where the population finally overcame the elite troops at the Federation Defence Complex? There was a solium radiation bomb nearly set off there. I believe it was actually Kerr Avon who disarmed it."

"Correct. After receiving the message, Servalan sent thirty specially-fitted pursuit ships to Brindle's World to wait for the _Liberator_. They were very fast and fitted with the new detector shields . . ."

* * *

Tarrant was struggling to get his boots on. He wanted to go to the galley before taking his watch, and he was beginning to think it was going to take the entire balance of his rest period to get dressed. Back on the base, he hadn't usually bothered putting his boots on, just some soft slippers. But he was a spacer again, or wanted to be, and the boots were just part of that. Unfortunately, he didn't have any other footwear, so he was going to—have—to get—the boots—_on_! That was one. He needed a rest before the other. What had happened to his feet? It wasn't this hard to get his boots on before he came on board.

The door buzzer sounded. He hobbled over and pressed the release.

"Hello, Tarrant," Jenna greeted him. "I thought you might like to get some coffee with me before you go on shift." She watched him hobble back to his bunk and sit down heavily. "Problem?"

It was embarrassing, but there was no point lying. "I'm having trouble getting my boots on with only one hand," he admitted.

"Let me help you." She started forward, but stopped when she saw a flash of resentment on his face. "Look, there's no point sulking. You need help, and I'm willing to give it." She dropped to one knee in front of him and picked up the boot. "Point your toes. Now wiggle." She pushed and twisted. "Maybe if you pull in the front while I—_oof!_" The boot finally surrendered.

"Well!" She stood. "You're going to have to make a choice."

_Here it comes_, he thought. _'You'll have to have a prosthetic arm, Tarrant.'_ He looked bitter.

"You can get some zips put into your boots, you can stop wearing boots, or you can get some_ bigger boots_," she said. "Those must be two sizes too small. How can you stand to wear them?"

"Listen, if you had feet as big as mine, you'd wear smaller boots too."

"Listen, if I was as tall as you, I'd expect to have feet to match." She grinned. "Let's get some coffee."

In the galley, she took two mugs from a latched cabinet and unscrewed the top of the coffee carafe enough to pour some into the mugs. Setting them down on the table, she squeezed into the seat across from him. Everything in the galley was small. Everything in the ship was small. It was a cargo ship, and most of the space went to that. The galley and cabins had to make do with what little was left. They were lucky: each crew member had his or her own cabin. That meant a tiny shelf desk, a narrow cabinet for personal belongings, a bunk barely big enough for one person, and one square metre of floor space. If there was a passenger, somebody had to hot bunk.

"How does it feel so far?" Jenna asked.

"Good. No matter how they try to engineer it, artificial gravity feels different from a planet. It's better."

She laughed. "I agree, but it's probably our imaginations. We're vacuum-lovers; probably always will be. Planets are nice, but I always feel confined."

He laughed too, but grew serious. Looking into his mug, he said quietly, "Captain Stannis, I appreciate your letting me come on this run. It was killing me sitting at the base, feeling I could never see space again except as a passenger."

"No thanks needed, Tarrant. This ship is designed to carry a crew of six, and I needed a copilot. I knew you were good; I'd heard about you. You like running blockades, don't you?" It wasn't really a question.

He laughed again. "It's the excitement, the exhilaration of becoming a part of the ship, of the ship becoming an extension of yourself. Even a quiet run like this feels good."

"Don't presume it will stay a quiet run. We could easily run into a Federation patrol."

"Not this first time, I hope. This time I'd like to just get the feel of the ship." He checked the chronometer. "I'd better get up front and relieve Dev. Thanks for your help, Captain." He put his mug away in the autowash and left.

_First time? Feel of the ship? Now you're talking like the Tarrant that Vila told me about. And I could use someone like you,_ Jenna thought with a smile.

* * *

In most parts of the civilised galaxy, if a person needed his clothes cleaned, he put them in the autovalet, waited around a while, and his clean clothes were returned to him. The "while" depended on how efficient the machine was. But it didn't matter; he could clean his clothes any time. Even on the prison ship the prisoners could take care of it themselves. But the machines on the base weren't as good as the antiques on the _London_. And there were only two, which meant no-one could do it himself.

If a resident of the base needed his clothes cleaned, he took them to the autovalet check-in, where one of four workers tagged them with his name, dropped them in a bin, and told him when they would be ready, usually inaccurately. If a person was smart, he watched while they were tagged, just to be sure it was his name on the tag. After the clothes went into the bin, they were at the mercy of the gods. Clothes were returned to the wrong person all the time; and clothes being at a premium, the new owners didn't often point out the error. Missing clothing was a way of life. It usually balanced out though, except for socks. Socks had never balanced at any time in history. But the major garments balanced.

_Used _to balance. For some reason, unexplainable by the autovalet workers, major garments hadn't been balancing for the last three or four weeks. They'd opened up every part of the machines that could be opened and hunted for the missing garments, several times. Oh, well. It must mean that the laws of physics had been rewritten and now included major garments as well as socks.

Vila dawdled at a corridor intersection where he could see both the patrons entering the facility, and the side door to the facility. Any moment now the laws of physics would demand that a cluster of patrons would storm the check-in counter, bringing both on-duty workers to the front for check-in activities.

When the moment arrived, Vila was busy at the side door. The lock was cheap—who would waste a good lock on a rebel laundry?—and he was inside within three seconds. He quickly scanned the stacks of cleaned garments waiting to be tucked into plastic sacks for pickup until he found some things in his and Dayna's sizes. Then he nipped back out, thoughtfully locking the door behind him. It had taken a total of forty-five seconds.

* * *

Vila had helped Avon roll onto his side so Tabor could peel the paralytic patch off his back. It wasn't difficult; Avon had been working with the weights Task had left for him and had strengthened his arms. He'd done most of the rolling part himself, gripping the rail and pulling his torso over. Now he was looking forward to regaining the strength in his legs.

"Just a moment longer while I wipe away any residue. Then I'll give you an injection to help clear the drug from your system. In a few minutes, you should be able to start flexing your feet." Tabor applied the injector. "Done. Just roll onto your back and give it a few minutes. You should feel some tingling now."

"Yes, I feel it. It's spreading downwards from the small of my back," Avon acknowledged. Vila watched him anxiously, quiet for once.

"I'm sure you're looking forward to getting up onto your feet again," Tabor said. "I've assigned Task to help you with that. Don't look like that, Avon. He did a fine job on your arm."

"He nearly killed me."

Tabor chuckled. "Task Master. That's what they call him."

"So I've been told," Avon said grimly.

"Are your toes tingling yet?" Tabor asked.

"They are, yes. I assume the tingling will be replaced with more normal sensation sometime soon?"

"In a few more minutes."

Having exhausted the conversation temporarily, they waited in silence. Then Vila, unable to bear the silence and the waiting, asked, "What about my hand, doc? When can I get the bandages off?"

"I can do that right now if you like. I'll go get something to cut the bandages," Tabor said and left.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Avon said gloomily, "Task."

"That's all right, "Vila said. "He did a great job on your arm. And it'll be nice when you can move to quarters of your own. Although, around here they're more like closets than quarters. Still, you'll enjoy the privacy. Just think: you won't have me all the time." He added the last nervously and a little anxiously. Avon had never tolerated a steady diet of Vila before.

"True. It would be nice to have some real peace and quiet. You do babble, Vila." Vila's face fell. "But on the other hand, you've had your uses." Vila's face lit up again. "Just hand me that urinal, would you?"

Resigned, Vila handed him the requested object. "I'll be glad when you're up and about again. Vila Restal—Urinal Bearer. Not my first career choice." Then he looked serious. "I'm sorry, Avon. I know I babble. It's probably gotten on your nerves. I just don't know any other way to be."

Avon returned the urinal to him. "I know, Vila. Listen carefully because I'm not likely to say something like this again: I have never wanted friends, but you have been my friend. I appreciate what you've done."

Vila was saved from formulating an awkward response by Tabor's return. "Here we go, Vila. Put your hand down here and hold steady. Just set the urinal over there first." Tabor began cutting at the bandages. "I warn you, I don't have anything valuable in my pockets."

"Oh, now that's not fair, Doc. Friends don't steal from friends. Besides, I know you don't have anything valuable. I've already checked." He added defensively, "There wasn't anything wrong with my other hand. A thief who isn't ambidextrous can't be successful."

"Well, I hope your recovery won't involve getting your hand into _too _many pockets, Vila. Some of the folks here have had some pretty rough times. They're likely to flatten you before they ask what you're doing. I don't think 'therapy' will be a good answer. Ah, Task. I want to get Avon up on his feet for a few moments and then into the mobile chair," Tabor explained.

"Right." Task positioned the chair and locked it in place. Avon clasped his arms around Task's shoulders. Task encircled Avon's torso with his arms and pulled him up on his feet. When they were both steady, Task relaxed his hold slightly. Ordinarily he would have pivoted and lowered Avon to the chair, but this time he just held him upright.

Avon clung to him for a few moments, savouring the feel of the floor against his feet. It was cold, but it felt good. Task relaxed slightly again, letting Avon take a little more weight on his legs and feet. When he began to tremble, Task lowered him into the chair. "How did that feel?" he asked.

"Good, very good," Avon said with satisfaction. He experimented a little, flexing his toes. "How long will I need to keep the chair?"

"You'll need it for a while, Avon," Tabor replied. "You can't simply get up and walk around as you did before, not yet. When you get tired, you'll need the chair. Flex your feet some." Avon wiggled his feet. "Good. Try lifting your knees too." Avon's knees shifted a little. "Good. It'll come back. Task will start working with you tomorrow. If your back starts to ache, it's time to stop; don't push beyond that. The fractured areas are healed, but they won't be as strong as the rest of your bones for some time. You could refracture them more easily than you could fracture an unaffected bone right now, so be patient. I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if you have any problems. Bye, Vila. Keep an eye on him."

Task moved to the door also. "I'll be back later to get you back in the bed. You'll want to get plenty of rest before tomorrow; we've got a lot of work to do."

Vila called after him, "He's looking forward to it," he volunteered for Avon. Seeing the exasperated look on Avon's face, he defended himself, "Well, you are."

He pulled a chair up beside Avon and said, "I need to talk seriously, Avon."

"You? Serious? This may be a first, Vila."

"Really, Avon." He looked serious, worried too.

"All right. What is it?"

Vila paused to collect his thoughts and marshal his arguments. "This plan of yours to get Orac back. Do we really need him?"

"_It_," corrected Avon automatically.

"All right, _it_. Do we really have to do this? I'd be happy to see that plastic brain out of my life. How much good did having him—_it_—really do us? It lied as often as it told the truth—more often than it told the truth. Yes, I know, 'computers can't lie.' Well, Orac did—often. Do you really want it back that badly? It probably could have told you a lot more—" he plunged ahead, "more about Blake than it did. Maybe . . . maybe things would have turned out better," he finished lamely. There. It was out. He'd said 'Blake.' Someone had to, and Avon wouldn't.

Avon still wasn't ready to talk about Blake, so he ignored that part of Vila's arguments. "Orac can't lie. We just weren't careful enough what we asked it. But that doesn't matter. We have to get it back even if we don't use it. If the Federation gets it, that'll be the end of the Rebellion."

"I thought you were never a part of the Rebellion," Vila chided gently.

"It seems I am for now, like it or not," Avon replied. "As are you."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"The difference now is that we're _choosing _to be part of the Rebellion, at least for the time being. Blake . . . Blake forced us to be part of _his_ Rebellion. He gave us no choice. Look at the people here, Vila. No-one is forcing them. They can leave if they choose, and so can we. But we have to get Orac back to stay free. We have to get Orac back if _we're_ to stay free. The Federation could use it to hunt _us_. Better to destroy it than let them have it," he finished.

"You'd do that?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess you're right. You sometimes are." That won a small smile. "But this idea of your going to Gauda Prime is stupid, Avon. And before you say it, I know: that never stopped us before."

"Listen, Vila, they probably couldn't find Orac without me, not in the small amount of time they have to do so. Even if the base is deserted, it'll be a dangerous place to be. I doubt Avalon's military commander would let his people spend much time there."

"All the more reason for you not to go!"

"Leave it, Vila. I'm going. Sitting in this chair if I must, but I'm going." He paused. "I guess the only question I have now is: are you going too?" he asked quietly.

"I'll have to. You can't look after yourself, you big idiot."


	4. Chapter 4

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 4 of 12

Dayna peered closely at the triggering mechanism she'd removed from one of the new guns in the rebel armoury. She swung a lighted magnifier over and peered through it for a few moments. "Feld, where did you get these guns? Do you know which shipment they came in?"

He looked at the crate she'd removed it from. "Pelson, I think. Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Look through this. Do you see the hairline crack running transversely?" She pointed with a probe.

"Oh, yes." He peered a moment longer before straightening up. "That would either fail to fire at all, or break after the first few shots. Tag that one, and we'll look at some more. I have a feeling we're not going to be happy with this."

They continued for several more hours, methodically checking each gun in the crate. Feld was right: they weren't happy.

Dayna reviewed their tally, "Out of twenty guns, three had a hairline crack in the triggering mechanism, ten had burrs in the focussing chamber, and four were missing their reflecting lenses entirely. That leaves three guns that might be good. I say 'might' because they could have something wrong with them we've overlooked. I wouldn't trust any of these." She kicked the crate in disgust.

"I'll let Avalon know," Feld said. "You check the records and verify their origin. If we've gotten any other weapons from that source, they could all be bad."

"It could hardly be an accident. Somebody wants us killed or captured."

"Or somebody wants to make a larger profit," Feld amended, opening the door.

"If they want to make a bigger profit by running bad guns, think how happy they'd be to get their hands on any of us," Dayna pointed out.

She got up, stretched—she'd really been at this too long—and went over to the computer console. Hooking a stool with her foot and sitting down tiredly, she began scanning crate numbers, muttering to herself. "Crate two four seven, crate two four seven, crate—there it is: Pelson, month 8, day 3. Along with crates two four three, two four five, and two four six. Who brought them . . . oh, oh. Jenna's going to be awfully angry."

She stood again. Nothing for it but to bring those crates in and start looking. It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

"Have you learned if any other weapons from the same source are defective?" Avalon asked. 

"I found defective guns in every crate from that shipment," Dayna answered. She rubbed at her eyes tiredly.

Feld added, "And I'm having weapons from other shipments collected for examination."

They had been looking at guns all day and most of the night, and it was the same for every Pelson shipment after the seventh month: most of the guns were useless, even dangerous. Jenna had delivered those shipments, and she could probably give them some helpful information, but she wasn't due back for several days.

"Have you checked any weapons from other shipments Jenna Stannis delivered?" Avalon asked wearily.

Feld looked puzzled. "No, I don't . . . You think Stannis is selling us?" he asked incredulously.

"Not Jenna!" protested Dayna. "She wouldn't do anything like that! She really cares about the Rebellion. She was with Blake all those years!"

"Exactly," responded Avalon.

"No," argued Dayna. "That's not even possible. Do you think she could fool Avon? Nobody can fool Avon." _But Anna did_, she thought. _All that time he mourned her, endured torture for her, and he never suspected anything._ Dayna grew very quiet, but she still didn't want to believe Jenna could have betrayed them. Surely she would have given herself away somehow. Avon must be attuned to that sort of thing by now. He would know if something was wrong, wouldn't he?

" . . . think you'd better get started on the other weapons," Avalon was saying. "The sooner the better. We don't want anyone hurt or killed by faulty weapons, and maybe some sort of pattern will emerge."

Feld asked, "Can we get any more people to help us with this? It's a big job."

"I don't want it going any further than this room. Send me progress reports—No, give them to me personally. I want to keep this as secure as possible. Don't tell anyone, either of you. This is just too important." She paused briefly, then finished, "Thank you for bringing this to me."

The interview was over. Feld took an unhappy Dayna by the arm and urged her out of Avalon's office. Once they were out in the corridor, he stopped and spoke in a low voice, "Look, Dayna. I don't believe Stannis is involved in this in any way except innocently. I think she's been duped too. But the only way we're going to prove it is to get busy checking those weapons. Let's go."

* * *

Avon was standing beside his bed getting used to controlling his balance again when Dayna came in. _Oh good_, he thought. _Here's a fine picture of a strong leader: skinny white legs sticking out of a ghastly hospital gown_. Grateful he hadn't had his back to the door, he reached behind himself quickly to check the status of his gown before sitting back down on the bed. 

"Avon, I've got to talk to you." Dayna looked worried. "Something bad has happened, and I'm afraid Jenna could get hurt."

He quickly stood up again. "Jenna? What is it?"

"You know she's been bringing in weapons shipments for Avalon?" When he nodded, she continued, "Well, I've been helping out in the armoury, checking new weapons, repairing old ones, just generally helping. I was checking some new guns and started finding defects—too many defects. So Feld and I—we're usually there at the same times—Feld and I spent hours checking the other crates from the same shipment. Avon, nearly all of them were defective! Then we started checking other shipments, and they had a lot of defects too. Shipments from Pelson were all bad, at least since the beginning of the eighth month."

"And Jenna brought in all those shipments," Avon said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, so Feld and I went to tell Avalon, and she said—" Dayna bit her lip. "She told us to check all the shipments Jenna had brought, regardless of where they came from."

"You believe she suspects Jenna." That wasn't a question either.

"Yes, Avon. I know Jenna couldn't do anything like that, and Feld agrees with me." Her eyes pleaded with him.

Avon eased back down onto the bed. "Dayna, Avalon was right to suspect Jenna. She doesn't know her like we do. She'll learn differently. That's not the danger to Jenna."

Dayna frowned. "It's not?"

"No, the danger to Jenna is from whomever is passing her the defective weapons. We don't know who it is, and we can't contact her. Worse, _she_ doesn't know what has happened. Oh, she's a good smuggler—_freetrader_—she knows to be cautious, but somebody could misinterpret something innocent she says, or even something one of her crew says, and think she's found them out. That's the real danger."

"But why can't we contact her?" Dayna asked.

"It would be too dangerous—" Avon began.

"Too dangerous! Avon, anything could happen to her and Tarrant," she protested.

"We can't contact her because that would endanger all of us. All—of—us." He gave each word equal weight. "Avalon wouldn't permit it." He added, "Well, _I_ wouldn't permit it if I was Avalon."

"What else can we do? We have to do something!"

"No, she knows what she's doing, and she's got Tarrant with her. Remember, Dayna, he was a freetrader and mercenary before he joined us. He knows to watch her back."

"Oh sure, with a gun in his wrong hand. He probably couldn't hit the broad side of a battleship left-handed," Dayna complained, not seeing the brief flash of pain on Avon's face.

He chided her, "And what was he doing when we met him? He was exterminating a Federation death squad with their own weapons, by himself. And doing an efficient job of it too. No, we'll have to wait until she gets back to explain it to her. In the meantime, maybe I can help with the computer work on shipment records. We'll need to find the pattern if we're to help Jenna. I'll talk to Avalon. You get some rest and then get busy with the testing again." He looked down at his bare legs. "Oh, and find Vila. Tell him to get me some clothes."

* * *

Dayna ran into Vila on her way out of the medical unit—literally. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a quiet corner. 

He grinned, "Dayna, so impetuous! All you have to do is ask; I'm available."

"Oh, shut up, Vila," she scolded from habit. "This is serious."

Alarmed, he asked, "What is it? Did something happen to Avon?" and started down the corridor.

Dayna pulled him back. "No, Avon's all right, but Jenna and Tarrant might not be. I don't have time to explain it to you; Avon will do that. But you're to get him some clothes—fast. He needs to see Avalon, and he needs to get access to the computers." She gave him a push. "Go, Vila!" She turned and fled.

He looked after her briefly. Right. He knew just where to get some clothes. And the owners probably wouldn't mind if he took them. They couldn't. They'd never know what happened to them.

* * *

"Here, Avon. I've brought what you wanted," Vila said as he came through the door, looking slightly bulky. He started pulling garments out of hidden pockets and thrusting them at Avon. "Dayna said Jenna and Tarrant might be in some sort of trouble." 

"Yes, somebody's been using Jenna to run defective weapons into the base, and we have no idea who or where." Avon started to pull on the garments and stopped. "I appreciate the sweater and the socks, Vila. Does that seem quite adequate to you?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Vila pulled a pair of loose, pyjama-like trousers from inside his jacket. "I guess you'll need these too. Don't want to frighten the ladies." Seeing Avon's face, he got defensive. "It's the best I could do, given the short notice."

Avon felt a touch of guilt. "Sorry, Vila." He pulled on the trousers and stopped to look critically at the sweater and socks. "Not exactly new, are they?" he asked meaningfully.

"I'm a thief. What do you expect?" Vila protested. "It's not like I had time to go off-base and shop the fine merchants. Somebody will just have to wonder why their clothes disappeared during laundering, that's all."

"Shoes."

"Couldn't find your size quickly enough. Wear your slippers. You'll be in the mobile chair anyway." He held it steady while Avon eased himself into it. "Where to?"

"Avalon's office."

"We don't have an appointment."

"We don't need one. She'll see us."

* * *

"Kerr Avon and Vila Restal to see you, Avalon." 

_Whatever for?_ "Thank you, Riece. Send them in." She came out from behind her desk. "Avon, Vila, how can I—"

"I'll get right to my purpose, Avalon. Something's wrong in the armoury," Avon interrupted her.

Avalon stiffened a little and returned behind her desk. "Yes, we have a serious problem there. Dayna told you?"

"Obviously. What do you plan to do about it?" Avon asked.

"I've asked Dayna and Feld to start checking all of the shipments Jenna's brought in. We need to know if any of them are good. Some of our cells are desperate for guns."

"You don't mean to check _just _Jenna's shipments, I hope. You are aware, of course, that she would never knowingly bring you defective weapons," he said firmly.

"Of course. But it seemed the best way to start."

"I'll need access to the computers if I'm to help you. We'll need to find the pattern as quickly as possible, for yours and Jenna's sakes," Avon finished.

"Certainly. I'll arrange it immediately. I'll just check with Doctor Tabor—"

"Who will agree with me, I'm sure. In the meantime, I'll go directly to the armoury and get started. Thank you for your time, Avalon," Avon smiled, somewhat insincerely, in Vila's opinion. Had the man never learned to smile genuinely? "Let's go, Vila."

* * *

Tarrant was surprised to see the flightdeck door closed; it wasn't normal practice on the _Lady_. He was even more surprised when it whisked open and then nearly shut on him while he was passing through it. 

"Oh, sorry, Tarrant," Dase apologised. "I didn't hear you coming. Good thing it didn't get you; you're already tall and skinny," she said with an impertinent smile. "Cap said it was sticking."

"Is it fixed then? Or is it a trap for new copilots?" He returned her smile good-naturedly while he reset various switches on the flight console.

"Oh, you mean like directing the plebes into the storage compartment on the way to the flightdeck?" she asked innocently.

"That was deliberate? I looked like an idiot!"

"That's the point. It's a test: Performance Under Pressure," she laughed. "You passed."

"I'm glad, I think. Where's Lissa? I'm supposed to relieve her."

"I relieved her early." She saw the question on his face. "It's okay, I'm flightdeck rated on this class. I just don't _like_ to do the flying."

_Like someone else I know_, thought Tarrant. His face darkened as he thought about Avon for a moment. Then he shook himself and asked, "You prefer engineering, do you?"

"Show me a squeaking TD drive unit and I'll be happy every time," she answered. She dropped tools back into a bag at her feet. "Done." She zipped the bag. "Ever been to Xaranar before?"

"Yes, briefly. We didn't stick around though, just delivered a message. Why? What is it like?"

"It's a good place for shore leave. The folks are nice, and they're not Federationists. There's a merchants' street where you can buy just about anything, and there's plenty of places to eat and drink." She winked, "Want to check some of them out?"

"Will we be there long enough?"

"Oh, yes. Cap likes to let the engines rest for a few hours and take on more fuel. We usually take on some cargo too. We can't really turn a profit if we ship only one way." She straddled the comm chair so she could face him. "Would you like to go with me to a couple of the joints? I know the good ones—the ones where the fistfights are kept to a minimum and the drinks are reasonable. No naked ladies, sorry."

Tarrant thought for a moment and then wondered why he had to think about it. "Yes, I'd like that. I'll find out what Captain Stannis has scheduled for watches, and we'll find a time to go together."

"Right." Dase picked up her toolbag and watched the door close and open properly. As she stepped through she said, "I'll take good care of you. You won't be touring the local lockup from the inside. Just ask Cap."

* * *

Xaranar had been colonised in the twenty-eighth century of the old calendar at a time when Earth and its allies were focussed on exploration instead of exploitation. The first colonists had found it to have a temperature climate, soil fertile enough for easy cultivation, and sufficient mineral resources to support industrialisation. It was far enough away from Earth that its inhabitants were little influenced by society and trends on Earth. Having more than sufficient resources to sustain themselves and no belligerent neighbours, they retained their focus on exploration when Earth and its subjects turned to exploitation. 

When political upheavals and dwindling resources on Earth resulted in a drastic change in governance and society, its borders contracted, leaving Xaranar well beyond Earth's practical control or influence. Xaranar remained free and grew stronger. By the third century of the second calendar, it was the only society in the Known Worlds capable of mounting large-scale and long-range explorations. Other planets, both within the Terran Federation and outside of it, contracted with Xaranar for exploration missions.

Tarrant's only previous experience with Xaranar was nearly four years earlier when he and a reluctant Avon had teleported to the family home of a Xaran man they'd met. He had chosen to stay behind on a doomed ship so the crew of the _Liberator _and others could escape from captivity. He had asked Tarrant and Avon to tell his wife and children they had always stayed in his mind.

Avon had needed coercion to undertake that trip, having little use for sentiment; so Tarrant was incredulous when Avon delivered the message, and a simple account of the man's self-sacrifice, with gentle compassion. For Tarrant, four years of living with Avon was four years of surprises, some of them good.

* * *

Tarrant twisted sideways to avoid yet another pedestrian in the crowded merchants' street in Xaranar's main city, Silsk. 

"Bag getting heavy, skyman?" Dase teased. She had thoughtfully provided him with a capacious bag to sling across his chest so he could carry her purchases more easily.

_Her _purchases, Tarrant noted. _Was that the only reason she asked me along?_ "No, I'm fine," he lied. Are you finding everything you wanted?" _I shouldn't complain. How long has it been since I had a date? Five years? If this _is_ a date, that is._

"Almost done. Just one more stop." And to prove her point, she stopped in front of a bootmaker's shop. "Here we are."

"You need new boots?"

"No, you do."

"Me?"

"Yes, I've been watching you limp around in those things for days now. Did they ever fit right?"

"They fit fine! Well, they used to fit fine. Either they got smaller, or my feet got bigger."

"That's what I thought. Your feet got bigger. You're going to get new boots."

"I don't have any money."

Dase smiled. "I do." She put up her hand when he opened his mouth to argue. "And don't give me any silly business about not taking money from a lady. What's wrong with that? We're friends. You can pay me back when Cap pays you." She grinned, "I know where to find you if you don't. Now, inside."

Half an hour later the bag didn't seem quite as heavy, not when he could walk in comfort. Shiny new boots with good, thick soles. And zips. How long had he been walking around hurting? Maybe that's what had made him such a pain in the arse to Avon.

Avon. That didn't bear thinking about yet. One of these days he'd go see him, but not just yet.

"Let's dump this stuff back at the _Lady_ and find a café," Dase suggested. "I'm hungry for something better than the concentrates on the ship. They have real food here. Loads better than the base."

In fifteen minutes they were back in the merchants' street, standing in front of a small restaurant. It advertised "Home Cooking," whatever that was. Tarrant's parents hadn't cooked; everything was delivered.

"You'll like it," Dase said. "Nothing to upset your tummy after the shipboard stuff, nothing too exotic, and I'm paying." Again she raised her hand to forestall an argument. "You can pay me back when Cap pays you, and—"

"You know where to find me," Tarrant finished.

"I was going to say, 'You'd do the same for me'." The impudent smile again. "Come on."

After they seated themselves in a partially hidden booth, Dase plucked up the menu standing on the table. "I heartily recommend the grilled bason stew. It's like beef on New Birmingham, but actually tastes like it. If you'd prefer vegetarian, the mixed garden vegetables are really good."

Tarrant looked at the menu with her. "What's this?" he pointed.

"You don't want that. It's like a blue plate special on New Birmingham." He looked puzzled. "Whatever they couldn't move yesterday is the special today," she explained.

"I'll have whatever you're having." That seemed safe.

He enjoyed the meal. Dase was right: it was much better than what he'd had on the base or ship. Better than what he'd for the last two years. It was a heady experience: good boots, good food, he had handled the ship well enough, he had found an enjoyable shore leave companion . . . life was getting a little brighter that evening.

The club turned out to be better than he'd expected too. It wasn't fancy, but the patrons seemed to be behaving themselves. They were noisy at times, but there didn't seem to be any drunks. _The management must hustle them out pretty quickly_, Tarrant thought, trying to spot the bouncer.

"They'll have a stage show first," Dase explained. "They'll play ethnic music while wearing traditional costume, and that's pretty good. Then they'll turn the floor over for dancing."

He enjoyed the music. Music was dying out on Earth, perhaps because the people were so doped up from the suppressants in the food and water supplies. The show was a treat for him. The fact that it was live and not a viscast made it even better. When the show was over, the lights lowered on the floor and couples moved onto it to dance.

"Thank you, Dase. This was a really good idea of yours. I can't remember the last time I did anything like this. I really mean that too. It must have been years." He watched the dancing couples and looked around at the other tables.

Some unexpected movement caught his eye, and only reflexes acquired through years of flight from authority made him look away without making eye contact. It was just a glimpse, but there was no doubt. "Dase," he said very softly. "Don't look around, but there's someone at another table who mustn't see me."

"Who is it?" she asked quietly.

"Someone I knew at the Federation Space Academy. He washed out, mainly because he was a nasty character. He'd sell anybody. If he sees me, he'll see a chance to make a profit." Tarrant paused, wondering how much to tell her. "I've got a price on my head."

"I know," Dase said. "I know who you are. Why do you think I haven't used your name where anyone else could hear it? Are you sure he hasn't seen you? It'll make a difference as to what we do next."

"He hasn't."

"Describe him."

"Dirty blond hair, light blue tunic and brown pants. There are two men with him. Both dark," he finished.

"I see him. How are you at dancing?"

"Why?"

She explained, "Because the only way out of here that doesn't go right past his table is behind the dance floor, back where the dressing rooms are."

"How do you want to do it?"

"We're going to join the dancers long enough to dance our way across the floor and into the back."

"Let's go."

"Bend your knees and try to look short," she instructed. He looked puzzled when she put some money on the table. "No sense having management looking for us too."

They casually joined the dancers and put several of them between themselves and Blondie. Soon they were outside in a dark alley.

"Let's get back to the ship quickly." Dase took his arm and led him in a direction away from the street that ran in front of the club.

"What would you have done if he'd seen us?"

"Made a lot of noise, attracted a lot of attention, and gotten the bouncer to put us in a groundcab."

"I think I'll be cutting my hair very short."

"Or growing it very long, but you'll have to do something to change your appearance," she advised.

"Well, it was time for a change anyway," he agreed as they slipped back to safety.

* * *

"Lissa, where's Cap?" Dase asked as soon as they boarded the _Lady_. 

"On the flightdeck. Problem?"

"I'll let you know. Come on, Tarrant."

Dase entered the flightdeck at a trot. "Cap, we had some trouble."

"I may have been spotted," added Tarrant, right behind her.

"Who by?" Jenna asked.

Tarrant answered first, "Someone I knew years ago. A slimy character by the name of Linson. He'd know me, and he'd know there's a price on my head."

"It was Pendle, Cap. I saw him."

"And he seems to have two names," Jenna said. "But he shouldn't be here. He stays on Pelson. What's he up to here?"

"What does he do on Pelson?" Tarrant asked.

"Sells us weapons for the Rebellion," Jenna answered. "I suppose there could be an innocent reason for him to be here, but Xaranar's not a resort planet."

"I'll get the engines online," Dase said quickly and left.

Jenna reached over to the intercom and held the button down. "Dev, Lissa, we're leaving early."

The _Emerald Lady_ had been off Xaranar for nearly a quarter of an hour before Dase was able to join the others on the flightdeck.

"Everything good with the engines, Dase?" Jenna asked.

"They're good. The cargo's secure, and I checked the scatter guns too. They're charged and ready," Dase reported.

"Anything on scans, Lissa?"

"No, but that doesn't mean there's not someone there. They could have deflectors or detector shields. I'm re-tuning the scans every few seconds. Maybe that will show an anomaly," Lissa replied.

"Dev?"

"The force wall has been up since we cleared the atmosphere. I've got several departure courses preprogramed. Your choice, Captain."

"Catalan."

"Ready."

Jenna relaxed a fraction. "Lissa, lock all the intercoms open. Dase, you and Tarrant will man the guns. Dase will take the forward gun. Lissa will relieve her if the engines need help. I'll relieve Tarrant if he needs it." She explained to Tarrant," Dev's not as good as the rest of us on the guns."

Dev tapped his eyepatch. "No depth perception, but I can fly on instruments if I have to. If it gets too dicey, I'll take the engines or communications and Dase can fly," he explained to Tarrant.

Jenna continued, "It may be that Pendle, or 'Linson' as you knew him, Tarrant, didn't see you or any of us in Silsk, but we can't take the chance. He might even have recognized the _Lady_ at the spaceport. We're going to assume he did. Get moving, everyone." Dase and Tarrant pounded off the flightdeck.

"Captain, I've found a text message piggybacked on a squirt from that communications booster we just passed. It decoded on our covert frequency. Plain text, no cipher. It reads, 'Watch your backs.' It's signed 'Gan'." Lissa checked more readouts. "I think it was intended specifically for us, Captain."

"It was," Jenna affirmed. "Avon's been busy. All right everybody, let's expect trouble."

Trouble came a few minutes later when Lissa announced, "I've found an anomaly behind us, Captain. About one seventy degrees, same plane."

Jenna called out, "Look sharp, Tarrant. You probably won't see anything until it fires." She waited. They all waited, some of them holding their breaths.

"They fired!" Tarrant shouted and targeted the flash while still speaking. He began firing at the bolt, tracking it back along its trajectory. The _Lady_ started changing course and orientation, and Tarrant automatically compensated. Jenna was taking advantage of the Solar Wind class's odd, off centre scan signature. The bolt skimmed lightly along the side of the _Lady_, touching only the force wall and not getting through to the hull.

Tarrant's continuous fire had overloaded the hostile's screens and caused them to collapse. Detector shields would have held up much longer, so it had to be deflectors. And those only worked on very small ships, personal sized craft. And since deflectors frequently shared the same power source as the force wall on small craft, there was a good chance he'd damaged the force wall. He had a clear view through his scans now. Two bolts were coming, sharing a trajectory. _He's stupid_, Tarrant thought as Jenna rolled the ship. _We only had to dodge once while he used up two bolts_. The _Lady _shivered a little from the glancing impact.

Tarrant tried unsuccessfully to hold the firing grip steady with his knee long enough to reach around and narrow the scatter field but couldn't. He grabbed the grip again and concentrated continuous fire at one point on the hostile. It wouldn't matter where that was as long as it overloaded the force wall. There was a minute flare about the time Tarrant calculated the force wall must be gone. He checked his energy reserve.

"His force wall's down! I need to recharge, Captain!" he called out.

"Got it," came Jenna's voice. The ship did an end-for-end, gravity compensators straining, and started baring down on the hostile. Tarrant was just barely able to hold himself in the seat—he hadn't been able to fasten the safety harness with one hand. Now he could hear Dase's gun. He kept one eye on the recharge indicator and the other on the scans. Dase was putting continuous fire into the hostile and compensating for Jenna's course changes even better than he had. He grinned. _A girl after my own heart._ He frowned. _I wonder where she learned that?_

His recharge light glowed green. "I'm ready when you need me!" he shouted. Too late. The hostile disappeared from his scan as Dase called out, "Got him, Cap!" Tarrant waited a few moments to be sure, then nodded to himself, _You made the same stupid mistake at the academy, Linson. You always underestimated your opponent._ Tarrant smiled with satisfaction.

He pried his hand off the targeting grip with difficulty. The gun was designed to be used with two hands. Having only one, he had been forced to grip so tightly his arm was cramping. And he couldn't even rub it.

* * *

"Thank you for coming, doctors," Avalon greeted Naylor and Tabor. "Please sit down." 

Tabor preempted Avalon, "You want to know if Avon will be able to go to Gauda Prime."

"Yes, Jorn, although I expect it won't really matter what we want. Ready or not, he'll go. I don't see how we could stop him, short of denying him access to a ship. Do you agree, Anda?"

"I do. Avon's a strong willed and determined person, and he's adept at imposing his will on others," Naylor agreed. She frowned briefly. Vila told her of an incident when Avon had used a gun to impose his will on his companions. "If you prevent him going to Gauda Prime, you should count on losing his cooperation in the future."

"What is his physical state, Jorn?" Avalon asked.

"Satisfactory enough for someone recovering from major tissue damage, a fractured spine, and severe exhaustion," he said dryly. "You know I would prefer he not exert himself so soon, but I agree we couldn't stop him if he insisted. We couldn't stop anyone really. It would be the patient's right. But I don't think he would respond to any of our arguments." He sighed, "The real question now is what Anda and I can do to contain the situation." He exchanged a glance with Naylor. "It would be safest if he had a physician along with him."

"No, Jorn. I can't allow it. You already knew that, didn't you? We can't risk the resource that way. I'm sorry, I don't mean that to sound cold; you're my friends, and valued ones too. But for the good of everyone here, I can't risk you that way. This isn't the Avon Rebellion, and he can't have everything," Avalon finished. "Can you suggest something else?" She waited.

Finally Tabor offered, "Task. He's not a physician, but he's a damn fine nurse and therapist. If something happens to Avon, he would be the one best able to contain the situation."

"Would he agree?"

"Yes. He's very committed to his patients. He'd risk his life for them. Before he became a nurse/therapist, he was a master sergeant in the Federation ground forces. He's tough and not afraid of danger, and he takes his responsibilities very seriously. The Feds lost a fine man there."

"The Feds lost a fine physician too, Jorn,"

The intercom clicked, "Avalon, General Wrell is here."

"Thank you, Riece. Please send him in." She stood. "General, thank you for coming to my office. Please sit down. Anda and Jorn were just reporting on Kerr Avon's condition. To summerize, Jorn would prefer Avon not go on any missions for quite some time but recognizes Avon will exercise his free will in this and insist on going. Anda agrees. He will not be in a very fit state yet, so Jorn has suggested Task accompany him. He believes Task will be agreeable. How will that impact your plans?" she asked.

"I don't wish to take anyone who isn't fully fit. At the same time, I'm anxious to recover Avon's computer before the Federation has an opportunity to find it and use it against us. I believe no matter how good the diagrams he could provide to us, it won't be possible to find this computer in a reasonable period of time without his being available for consultation. I don't want to spend even so much as a day on Gauda Prime if possible."

He turned to Naylor and Tabor. "It's my plan to equip the recovery team with A/V links so Avon can remain on the ship and guide them. This would be preferable to trying to transport him in conditions we know nothing about at this time. It would be safer for him and safer for my team."

Turning back to Avalon, he was startled by Naylor's interruption: "And safer for Avon's psyche." The others looked at her for an explanation.

"Blake was his friend, yet Avon was compelled by circumstances to kill him. He also lost a member of his team there. Those were the last in a long string of traumatic events for him."

She addressed Wrell directly, "He's been suffering from traumatic stress for three, possibly four years. And still he's managed to lead his people effectively. He accepted responsibility for those people voluntarily—he needn't have done so. He could have walked away any time and lived the high life on any number of planets.

"But bear in mind he was able to cope purely because of the need to survive. His time here has relieved the pressure. He's had time to think, to reflect, to regret. I don't know what returning him to Gauda Prime might do to him," she concluded.

Wrell cleared his throat. "I appreciate your explanation, Doctor. Thank you. As for the plan to send Task with him, that is acceptable to me. Task is an experienced campaigner, and I have no reservations about including him."

"Doctors, do you have anything more to add?" Avalon asked.

"I'll review Avon's current medical condition with Task and work out what he'll need to care for Avon," Task answered.

"And you'll have to include one more in your party, General," Naylor added. "Vila Restal."

"The thief? No, I can't take him along—" Wrell began.

"Oh, you'll have to. I think you'll find Vila won't let Avon go without him. Besides, you'll need Vila to keep Avon sane."

* * *

"We've got another problem, Carnell," Avalon began. 

"Yes, something's wrong in the armoury," Carnell agreed.

Avalon looked at him sharply, with not a little annoyance. "How did you know?"

"Kerr Avon's been spending a lot of time there, and the armourers have been working extra shifts. What has happened?"

"Dayna Mellanby found large numbers of defective guns, from several shipments. In fact, it looks as though Jenna Stannis may be involved."

"Jenna Stannis _is _involved. Oh, not the way you're thinking, Avalon. She's entirely innocent. Someone is setting her up."

"You mean someone is trying to sabotage the Rebellion, don't you?" Avalon suggested.

"No, I mean someone is setting up Jenna Stannis in particular and probably hoping to extend it to Kerr Avon and the others of his group. They're very important targets, Avalon. Someone, somewhere, knows or suspects they may be alive. Someone, somewhere, wants them. And not necessarily dead. Is it their expertise or their considerable bounties, you ask?"

"No, I didn't ask. But since you bring it up, do you have some idea of who it is?"

"Yes, and so do you: Servalan." He smiled. "And Servalan would want them for their expertise _and _their bounties. They're worth the same bounty dead or alive. Dead would be easier, but alive would be more profitable."

"How do you mean?"

"They have a great deal of information and knowledge she could wring out of them. At least she _thinks _she could wring it out of them. But her attraction to Avon—oh, yes, I meant 'attraction'—has by now transformed into a need to kill him, probably in the most painful way she can devise. She's always enjoyed inflicting pain."

"What course of action do you suggest, Carnell?"

"Let Avon continue to follow the trail. Let Stannis and the others help him. Between them, they may solve the problem of eliminating the ex-Madame President for you. They certainly want to, especially Dayna Mellanby." Avalon frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Dayna. I made it very clear to her when she and Feld first brought me the information about the defective guns that she was not to tell anyone about it. The first thing she did was tell Avon."

"Of course she did. Avalon, none of those people are rebels, not even Stannis really. And they're not your employees either. They all follow Kerr Avon. Even Stannis will, now that she's met up with him again. They can't help it—Avon's got more charisma in his thumb than Blake ever had in his whole life. And more cunning. It's fortunate Blake didn't learn from him. Those people would follow Avon through hell—for his sake, not theirs." Pleased with his observation, he added, "They've already done so on more than one occasion. Don't try to pit yourself against Kerr Avon—you'll lose. Accept it and use it, Avalon. It's the best you can do with them."

"You admire him," Avalon accused.

"No, he's just another playing piece on a game board. Think of it as chess, but with Avon representing both the king _and _the queen. The goal of the game is to capture the king, but _this _king is as powerful as the queen."

* * *

It was true; Carnell didn't admire Avon. Carnell didn't admire anyone, except possibly Carnell. But he _appreciated _Avon. He appreciated the unpredictability of the man. It made Carnell's game so much more interesting. 

Avon could be counted on to bind people to him such that they would follow him through hell, just as he told Avalon.

Avon could be counted on to risk his life for those people, even while detailing to them just how worthless their lives were.

Avon could be counted on to defy authority; he was a law unto himself, but he had no desire to impose his personal laws on society.

Avon could be counted on to resist subordination, even violently; but he treated his subordinates with compassion, as long as they didn't resist _him_.

Avon could be counted on to make soul-destroying decisions, and spare his people the remorse of making those decisions themselves.

But in every other way, Avon was unpredictable; he existed outside the rules governing everyone else. It made him very dangerous, but very interesting . . .


	5. Chapter 5

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 5 of 12

Avon instinctively began getting up to help Dayna lift the heavy lid of a crate when she stopped him. "Don't, Avon, just stay there; we can't risk your back. I can get it." He settled back in his mobile chair, ego slightly deflated. They'd been checking guns and recording the results for two days. Dayna and Feld were working sixteen hour shifts. Avon couldn't do that; he tired too soon. But his work went faster, so there was little point getting ahead of the others.

Vila had been popping in frequently, ostensibly to see if they needed anything—food, help opening a crate, anything. "Hello, Dayna, Avon," Vila greeted as he came through the door. "Made any progress?" He handed each of them a concentrated food pak.

"Thanks, Vila. We've gotten through all the shipments brought from Pelson, Rabern, and Kale," Dayna reported.

"And I don't like what I'm seeing so far." Avon rubbed his eyes. "Three sources isn't really enough, but I don't think it will change. All the shipments Jenna brought from those planets since the beginning of the eighth month have had significant failure rates. Shipments from those planets brought by other persons have not."

Vila protested, "Surely you're not suggesting Jenna really _is _betraying Avalon, Avon?"

Avon looked disgusted. "Of course I'm not. It ought to be apparent even to you, Vila: Jenna's been set up. Now we have to discover the motive. And before you say it, Dayna and Vila, it's not to sabotage the Rebellion. That's nothing more than a 'fortunate' side effect."

"If someone wanted to sabotage the Rebellion, they'd have arranged defective weapons in all the shipments, or only in random shipments," Vila said.

"Exactly. We don't need to waste our time checking shipments brought in by anyone but Jenna yet. We can check the others later, and that should save time now. But we need to find every source world for the defective weapons. Jenna will know who she dealt with on those worlds, and that is the only way we can stop whoever is behind this."

Dayna asked, "But why Jenna? A personal grudge? A rival? Someone in her crew?"

"All of the above?" suggested Vila.

"Well, we'd better get back to work." Avon turned back to the computer console.

Dayna raised her eyebrows at Vila and nodded slightly towards Avon.

"No," corrected Vila, "Dayna will get started. You need to take a break, Avon. I'll come back and enter data in the programme. Come on, I'll take you back to the medical unit." He began guiding the mobile chair through the door.

As they passed along the corridor, Avon asked, "Vila, I wonder if you could put your considerable talents to use and find us something a little more satisfying than a concentrate pak? Not the engine lubricant and plastifoam from the base mess hall; they make it from concentrates. There's a reason they call it 'mess.' I think they just extract the flavour from the concentrates and present the remains as food."

"You didn't think it was so bad a few days ago."

"I was starving and doped up on drugs a few days ago." A thought occurred to him: "You don't mean you like it, Vila? That food isn't fit for human consumption." After a pause he added, "Though it's probably gourmet eating to a Delta."

"Very funny, Avon. I'll have you know I've enjoyed some of the finest food available in the Alpha Levels of London Dome," he bragged.

"You? No-one would invite you to the upper levels. You would probably swill drain cleaner thinking it was the finest wine."

"I never said I was invited."

They continued in silence for a few moments. At length Avon ventured, "Vila . . ."

"Should I issue myself an invitation to the off-base food vendors' stores?"

"If you would be so kind."

"Sure, Avon," Vila agreed as he navigated through the pedestrians in the cavernous commons. "Anything in particular?"

"No, so long as it's different from the concentrates."

"I'll go get us both something as soon as—Oh, look! Here's Task!" Vila said cheerily. "And he's all ready to start your therapy." Departing at a run, Vila failed to see the doom settling over Avon's face.

* * *

"I won't be long, no more than an hour," Vila told the guards at the base exit. 

"Don't stay much longer than that. We go off shift in two hours," one of the guards instructed.

Security was fairly simple. The doors couldn't be opened from the outside. They fit flush with the walls and had no handles or locking mechanisms. Inside, there were simple bars across the doors, nothing you could finesse from the outside. Unless someone was inside to let you back in, you didn't get in. There were always two guards at the door, and they were adept at remembering people and their exits and entrances. If they didn't know you, they wouldn't let you in. If they didn't see you leave, they wouldn't let you in. The pairings were always different and random, so you'd have to be in collusion with several guards to violate those rules. It was more foolproof than a computerized system. It reminded Vila of something he'd read about an old method for detecting contraband: dogs. The fancy machines often made mistakes, but the dogs never did. Indeed, the dogs and their handlers were more valuable than machines and carefully protected—just like these men. It was no problem for Vila; he could get what he needed pretty quickly.

He strolled casually down the wide path between the merchant's stalls, stopping from time-to-time to take a closer look at the merchandise. It wasn't quite as frightening here in the marketplace as other outdoor places had been. There were lots of people and familiar objects around. Vila's other experiences outside—and they were rare—had taught him that Outside was filled with big, hungry beasts, both animal and human. And all of them wanted to kill him.

In the marketplace, he could duck inside a stall if destruction threatened to rain down from the sky. It wouldn't be enough to save him, but it made him feel a little better. If there were any scary animals, they stayed far away. He couldn't hear anything that sounded like an animal.

The only real danger in the marketplace was the people. Not that any of them were big and hungry, but some of them might be small and vicious. With this many people, there had to be some who preyed on others. Vila hadn't heard of any stabbings in the marketplace, but it was a matter of time. Every society had people who were so inept at stealing that they found it easier to kill first.

But Vila was a thief too—a good one. He knew how to get close enough to pick a pocket, and he knew when someone was getting too close to him. When he thought about it, he realized he was probably in less danger than anyone else in the marketplace.

He continued looking at the merchandise and chatting with the merchants, careful to keep his hands where the merchants could see them. It wouldn't do to _look _like a thief, would it? On his way back into the base, he'd stop and buy one or two items, just for realism. He already knew where he was going, so when he got near some stalls selling garments, he stepped between the stalls as though he was going to attend to nature in the trees behind them.

Slipping quietly to the back of one of the stalls, he listened carefully for a few minutes at the flimsy door. Faint voices. The merchant was in the front. The lock was laughably easy—for him—and he let himself in quietly. Quickly he scanned the stacks of clothing and made his selections, folding everything tightly and tucking it into various pockets. Then he quietly let himself out, relocked the door, and presented himself on the path again.

After two more stops like the first, he'd reached the end of the merchants' stalls and started back towards the base. He'd seen a set of small tools he needed to assist him in his "profession," and they would do nicely for a public purchase. He could pay for them too. Somewhere along his rambles through the marketplace, he'd acquired some money.

Unusually for Vila, he failed to notice a new merchant staring at him as he returned to the base.

* * *

Vila was back within an hour, pockets bulging. He popped his head through the door into Avon's room, "Oh, good. All done for the day?" 

An exhausted but tidy Avon was lying on the bed. " 'All done' is exactly how I feel, Vila. Come in and shut the door."

Vila walked over to the side of the bed and looked at him critically. "You look a lot better than usual. Smell better too." He earned a glare.

"I'm sure if I had smelled bad, Dayna would have said something."

"Any other time perhaps, but she's being extra nice to you right now—wounded hero syndrome," Vila smirked.

Another glare.

"Sorry." He didn't look sorry. "Did Task clean you up?"

"Yes, after he nearly killed me with therapy. No doubt he wanted my corpse to be presentable. Did you bring the food?" Avon asked.

Vila pulled some packets out of his pockets and presented them to Avon with a flourish. "Here you are, nothing but the finest."

Avon stared at the loathsome objects in his hand. "Vila."

"Yes?"

"These are concentrate paks."

"Yes, they are."

Avon transferred his stare to Vila.

"And if you will look closely," Vila pointed out, "you will see they are of an entirely different brand from the ones here on the base."

They had little pictures of garishly coloured spaceships and planets on them.

Resigned, Avon wrestled the "e-z open" tab into submission, poked the "handi straw" through the hole, and drank. No worse than the base food, but no better.

"Here," said Vila, pulling larger bundles out of his jacket. "I got you something better to wear for the Gauda Prime briefing tomorrow. I can't be seen with you looking like that." He nodded at Avon's mismatched sweater and pyjama trousers. Avon watched in amazement as a shirt, vest, and trousers—real trousers, with a zip in the fly—dropped onto the bed. All black, Avon's favourite colour. "Oh, yes," Vila dropped some trainers on the floor and sat. He pulled off the boots he was wearing—new boots—and thrust them at Avon. "I got you these too. They're your size." Vila put the trainers on.

Avon was nearly speechless. He had always thought Vila was talented, but this was amazing. "Thank you, Vila," he said, meaning it.

Vila stood. "The briefing is first thing in the morning, so you'd better go ahead and get some sleep. I'll take you there, but I don't want to be in the meeting," he explained.

"Why not? You're going too. You should have some input into the plans."

"No, I don't understand military missions and things like that, and I don't want to. I'd rather just go along with whatever you decide. You'll tell me anything I need to know. I don't expect there'll be a need for us to leave the ship; at least I hope not. Gauda Prime wasn't a very friendly place the last time we were there. I'd just as soon stay in the ship—locked in the ship. I'll stay with you—where it's safe."

Avon was startled for a moment, remembering Malodar. That's what Vila had said before they went to Malodar, before Avon tried to kill him. No . . . that was faulty memories.

"Yes, Vila, you're always safe with me." Then he added emphatically, "You have my word on it."

* * *

Tarrant was tired; they were all tired. Since the attack shortly after departure from Xaranar, they were on continuous alert. On the _Lady_, that meant being on duty for twenty hours and asleep for five. Only one crew member could be asleep at a time; the rest were manning their own or someone else's station. Dase had dragged her mattress into the corridor midway between the engine room and the aft gun bay. The others were sharing one in the corridor between the flightdeck and the forward gun. Either Tarrant or Jenna was on the flightdeck at all times. 

He thought about how tired he was, and then he thought about how tired the _Liberator _crew must have been during the War. Comparing his mental pictures of how Avon, Cally, and Vila had looked just after the War when he first met them with how they had looked a few weeks later, the fighting appeared to have temporarily aged them at least ten years. That's why he wasn't sure it was Avon he'd encountered first on the _Liberator_. The man he found looked so much older than the pictures he'd seen of Avon that he wasn't sure whom he'd caught.

Tarrant had gotten to the Andromedan action late and had lost his ship fairly soon by taking on a much bigger opponent. The opponent was lost too, but that hardly made up for losing his own ship, the only ship he'd ever flown that was truly his. He wondered how the _Liberator _crew had been able to function for so long before having to abandon ship. Pale, fragile Cally must have had far more strength than she had ever let him see, and Jenna Stannis didn't give the appearance of an Amazon either. How had she done it?

Vila? A fair pilot? He tried to picture Vila at the pilot's console during a battle and couldn't. Avon? A pretty good pilot? He'd kept that hidden from Tarrant, but he would if he hated piloting. And Blake the Hero had turned out to have feet of clay. Tarrant had never been a rebel, but he had always admired Blake. It was disappointing.

He shook himself back to attention and checked Lissa's scans. They hadn't discovered any more stalkers, but Jenna wouldn't risk leading anyone directly back to Horizon. So they flew a somewhat inefficient route to some of the planets they had been scheduled to visit. A legitimate contact wouldn't waste fuel that way and would break off soon. And if they were being followed by an undetectable shadow, she hoped the shadow would break off and look for fuel before she had to do the same. They were heading back to Horizon now and would have little fuel to spare.

Jenna joined him on the flightdeck, relieving Dev for his sleep period. Lissa had gone to help Dase with something in the engine room, so they were alone on the flightdeck. She asked, "Would your friend likely have been alone when he attacked us?"

"He wasn't my friend, but yes, he probably did it on his own. He always overestimated his abilities, thought he was the best, the smartest. He pulled stupid stunts by himself because he wanted to show everyone what a big man he was. He thought he was a real hotshot. His problem was that he was about the least talented flier I've ever seen, barely able to stay in the academy. But when he screwed up, it was always someone else's fault.

"At first the new ones, the ones that didn't know about him, would hang around him, thinking he was as good as he said. Gradually they'd start to figure him out. There were even a couple of the instructors that seemed supportive of him—long beyond the time common sense should have kicked in. I think he was blackmailing them.

"But to answer your real question, he's quite likely to have seen me or the _Lady _and pursued us without picking up a companion to back him. Since Solar Wind ships don't have weapons," he grinned at Jenna, "—except for a very bright lady freetrader captain—he would have thought he could blow us out of space by himself," he finished.

"Which leads us to the next question: how did he come by a private ship expensively equipped with deflectors and a gun? Blackmail?"

"Why give the little slime a ship? That's a lot of blackmail when you could just kill him. Anyone with that much money could easily afford to hire it done. No, he bought the ship himself, but where did he get the money? Could he make that much running guns for the Rebellion?"

"I don't think so. A small ship, sophisticated enough to travel from Pelson to Xaranar, with deflectors, would take ten years of gun running. And that's only if you saved all your money and nothing ever went wrong. He must have been getting money from something else. But what?" Jenna mused.

"Why go after us in the first place?" Tarrant asked. "If he wanted the bounty on me, he wasn't going to get it by atomizing us. It had to be the _Lady_, but why?"

"Destroying the evidence? It's not as though we were going to turn him in for gun running."

"He was always suspicious of everyone else's motives, probably because his were always dishonest," offered Tarrant. "Maybe he thought we followed him there to hijack one of his deals. Or maybe he thought we might accidentally foul up a deal."

"Or maybe we just don't know enough yet. But since you're explained his charms, I think I'll ask Avalon to do some serious testing on the weapons we've gotten from him," Jenna finished.

* * *

"I came a little early, in case you need help—" Vila broke off as he saw Avon already dressed and standing by the mobile chair. "Has Task been by?" 

"No, I took care of everything myself." Avon sat heavily in the chair. _Thank the gods these boots have zips_, he thought. "It was more tiring than I had expected."

"But you look good. You look like the Avon we all know and love."

Avon glared. "I have no interest in 'looking good,' Vila—"

"Like hell."

"Nor being loveable," he growled.

"You _sound _like the Avon we all know and love," Vila observed, pulling up a chair. "Who's going to be there?"

"Avalon, naturally; General Wrell; whichever one of his people is leading the mission; the pilot maybe . . . that should do it, I think."

"What about Dayna?"

"What about her?"

"She'll want to go."

"She may not have a choice, Vila. I don't imagine General Wrell will be wanting to take anyone not necessary to the mission. Dayna hasn't trained with his people; they would find themselves looking after her as much as searching for Orac." He stopped Vila before he could start. "I agree she's probably as lethal as any of his people, but they're used to training as a team. There's no need to put unnecessary pressure on them."

"And you don't want her going," Vila smiled.

"It's not a question of what I want."

"You want her out of danger for a while."

"Nonsense. She's simply not vital to recovering Orac. You, on the other hand, will be very useful. Just hand me that glass of water, would you?"

* * *

Vila guided Avon's chair into Avalon's office and positioned him at the place the others had left for him at the large conference table. There were more people than Avon had expected. In addition to the General, there were four of his people: the mission commander, the pilot, and two section leaders. Avon was also surprised to see Doctors Naylor and Tabor, and Task. Task's presence began to worry him. 

Vila leaned down near Avon's ear and murmured, "I'll wait outside, Avon." He straightened up to leave, but Avon caught his arm in an iron grip. _Avon's been overdoing it with those weights_, Vila thought.

"Would someone please bring a chair for Vila?" Avon requested. There was some poorly concealed surprise. Avalon's aide brought a chair and placed it next to Avon. Vila sat nervously but didn't speak.

Avalon stood briefly. "Let's get started on this. General, would you tell us your plan?"

Wrell took the floor. "All of you are aware that Kerr Avon and his associates were last on Gauda Prime before they were brought here. Sub-Commander Chelsin," he nodded to his right, "participated in the operation that neutralized the attacking Federation troopers, so he has some experience with both Gauda Prime and the base itself.

"He will lead the mission to enter the base and recover the computer Orac. Mister Avon has provided us with drawings of what this device looks like and its dimensions. We understand it to be hidden inside the base, is that correct, sir?" He turned to Avon for elaboration.

"Yes, we separated briefly for reconnaissance when we first entered. The base flyer hangar appeared unattended and unsecured, and we took that to mean there was something very wrong happening there.

"While I was separated from the others, I hid Orac behind a maintenance hatch in a deserted corridor. All of the corridors we initially searched were deserted, and that wasn't credible. There should have been people moving throughout those areas. We expected a trap of some sort.

"After that, I rejoined the others and sought out Blake," he finished abruptly.

_There's the understatement of the century_, thought Vila. _Everything went to hell then_.

Wrell continued, "Sub-Commander Chelsin's group will enter the base in the same way, through the flyer hangar, if possible. This will give Mister Avon the best possible orientation for directing the search. All of the team will be wearing helmet cams with A/V links. Mister Avon will remain on the ship and watch their movements from screens there. Mister Avon, Miss Mellanby, and Mister Restal have provided us with diagrams drawn from memory of how they proceeded there, coded to indicate degree of confidence.

"We haven't had any intelligence from that area since the incident from which we recovered Mister Avon and his group, and we don't know what to expect. We hope the area has been abandoned so we can spend hours there if necessary. If it is occupied by anyone—and it could be, buildings being at a premium on GP—we will pull back and send an individual inside covertly.

"It may be that the facility can no longer be entered; it could have been destroyed. If so, Sub-Commander Chelsin's team will determine if it might be possible to tunnel into any debris and make the search.

"Sub-Commander Chelsin will be the one making decisions about the mission as soon as the lift off from base. He will decide what course of action to take or, indeed, whether to take action or not. If he is unable to direct the mission for any reason, Section Leaders Klessen," the woman nodded, "and Wilker," the man nodded, "will do so." Wrell turned to Avon, "Will Miss Mellanby be coming with us?"

"No, Miss Mellanby will remain here," Avon answered firmly.

"Thank you, General Wrell," said Avalon. "Doctor Tabor, would you explain the arrangements for attending to Avon?"Avon stiffened with annoyance.

"As General Wrell told you, Avon will remain on the ship during the mission, along with Vila Restal. He's not yet fit to leave the mobile chair entirely, so Task will accompany him to provide appropriate therapy and contain any medical problems that may arise," Tabor explained. Avon slumped fractionally, gloom flashing briefly across his face. _Task._

"Thank you, Doctor," said Avalon. "Does anyone have any questions or need to add anything?"

Vila cleared his throat. Every face turned to him expectantly, Avon's expression warning Vila not to embarrass him. "I was wondering," he began hesitantly, "how long will we be gone?"

* * *

"How long will we be gone? Really, Vila, did you have some dates lined up? No, never mind; you wouldn't know what one is," Avon said disgustedly, as Vila guided the chair back to the medical unit. "At least you know you'll need to bring a change of underwear, assuming a Delta grade social misfit knows what underwear is." 

"Yeah, Mister I-Know-It-All-Alpha? Well, _you _didn't know how long we'd be gone, did you?" Vila challenged.

Avon quickly cast about for a safer subject and remembered: "Task."

"Stop complaining, Avon. You didn't really think you could leave off the therapy so soon, did you? Besides, Task could be a real useful fellow to have around. Suppose somebody gets hurt? It was Task who treated us at Gauda Prime and brought us back in Jenna's ship."

"Really?" Avon grew thoughtful. "You're right, Vila. Task _is _a very useful fellow . . . Well, hurry up. He'll probably be waiting for me, chortling with glee."

* * *

Vila had detoured only long enough to grab a couple of concentrate paks from the mess hall before going to the armoury. Dayna and Feld were still working double shifts to test suspect guns, and Vila wanted to get as much of the information as possible into Avon's programme before leaving the next day. Dayna was alone. Good. He handed her a pak as soon as he came through the door. 

"How far have you gotten?" he asked.

"We've finished Aber—all were Jenna's shipments, and all were defective. I've tagged the crates so you can put the data in. We're just starting on Halfrin. I'll be glad when Jenna gets back so she can look at the data. I don't want Avalon to keep thinking Jenna's arranging this somehow."

"I doubt she thinks that anymore, Dayna. Did she say something else about it?"

"No, I haven't talked with her. In fact, I get the impression she's not very happy with me right now. It's probably because I told Avon when she said not to tell anyone, don't you think?" she asked.

"Probably."

"Well, she'll just have to get over it. I had to tell Avon; how could I not? He always knows what to do," she finished. "I guess you'll be leaving for Gauda Prime right away?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'm not looking forward to it, I can tell you. The last time we were there they kept trying to kill me. It won't be any better this time."

"They weren't trying to kill you personally, Vila; they were trying to kill all of us," she corrected.

"It would have been the same result."

She put down the gun she'd been examining and attached a tag to it. "Just like the others: hairline fractures in the trigger mechanisms, burrs in the focussing chambers, or missing reflecting lenses. Somebody didn't have much imagination." She turned to him. "How is it going to work on Gauda Prime? Avon's not fit to go hunting around in that base, assuming it's still there."

"We're going to stay on the ship. The search team will have A/V links so Avon can direct them. I hope that will be adequate." His face grew worried. "Unless the Feds got Orac before us."

"Relax, Vila. If Avon hid him, he'll stay hidden until Avon wants him. But there's another reason I'm glad Avon won't be going in—two, really."

"Soolin and Blake."

"Have you told him about Blake?" Dayna asked.

"No, but I guess I'd better do that tonight. If he's going to have problems with it, better here with Doctor Naylor than on the ship with just me."

"I miss Soolin."

"Yeah."

After several moments, Dayna asked, "Has he said anything about her?"

"No. But he wouldn't talk about Cally after she died either. I guess it's just his way."

Dayna understood. It still hurt too much to talk about her sister and father. She squeezed his arm. "I know. I miss Cally too, Vila. I'm glad we have Jenna now."

"Then I'd better get busy putting this data in the programme. We've got to help each other. We're the only family we have," he said as he settled in front of the computer.

Dayna smiled. _You're right, Vila. We _are_ family_.

* * *

Avon wondered if Task was determined to kill him before he could get on the ship the next morning. It was the most gruelling session yet, and Avon was exhausted. He would have taken advantage of that exhaustion and slept, but Vila had come in bringing more of those disgusting concentrate paks. There was no alternative; it was apparently the only food available, and Avon's appetite was coming back with his strength. He'd once dreamed of being so rich no-one could touch him. Now he'd settle for real food. 

They'd had real food on the _Liberator _after the War. Before that they had to content themselves with the reconstituted foods provided by the ship. It was made from a nutrient mix like the concentrates on Avalon's base, but tasted a lot better. It even resembled real food. But it was the best Blake would allow. No supply runs to friendly planets; that would have been a waste of time and resources that should be devoted to his Cause.

After the War, they sometimes visited neutral planets and purchased local products. Most of it was quite good. Vila was surprisingly talented at selecting potables. He would have thought Vila's tastes would be limited to—what were those old terms he'd once read? Rotgut? Bathtub gin?

One thing you could say for the _Liberator's _reconstituted food: you didn't gain any weight from it.

He finished his concentrate pak and set it aside.

"You want another, Avon? I can get one for you."

"No."

"Worried about Jenna, are you?"

"I am _not_ worried about Jenna. She's more experienced than we are in the smuggling trade. It won't be the first time she's been deceived. She's probably already suspicious of her contacts. And if she's not, she's always ready for trouble. It's her way of life. Besides, she's got Tarrant with her. He was a smuggler too."

"Oh, yes, and he'll be great with a gun in the wrong hand. The idiot will probably shoot his foot." Unusually, Vila failed to notice the effects of his words. Avon had flinched.

Finally Avon said, "She'll be all right, Vila."

"And what about us? Going back to Gauda Prime? Do you think you can really direct Wrell's people to Orac?" he asked.

"I don't know, Vila. That might be one of the things I remember wrongly," Avon said quietly.

"Oh, gods, I'm sorry, Avon."

"So am I."

They sat in silence for several minutes before Vila dredged up courage. "Avon, there's some things you need to know. Things about Blake."

"What sorts of things?" Avon began staring at something beyond the walls of the room.

Vila considered how best to start. "Have you noticed how people look at you when you're out of this room?"

"Yes. They're staring at the man who killed their hero." Flat, no inflection in his voice.

"No, they're not." Vila took a deep breath and continued, "They're staring at a hero."

Avon regarded him. "Vila, have you lost your mind?"

"No, Avon, and you haven't either; at least not anymore. Since we came here, I've learned some things about Blake, things we didn't know when he was with us. And things we didn't know later either.

"Carnell explained it to me. He said when they messed with Blake's mind, they tried to put a different personality over his real one. You remember how I can't be conditioned, don't you?"

"What are you saying? That Blake _was _or _wasn't _conditioned?" Avon asked.

"He was, but it didn't take right. It worked all right for a while, then I guess it stopped working when he saw all those people massacred that night on Earth. That's why they had to send him to a penal colony, I guess: because the conditioning stopped working and they wanted him out of the way.

"But it wasn't really gone, and that's why he acted the way he did. You know, really nice and caring one day, and mean the next."

In spite of the awkward presentation, Avon knew what Vila was talking about. It had driven him wild trying to figure out how to relate to Blake. He thought about the many times Blake had reversed his treatment of him from day to day. He never knew when the man was going to smile at him or curse him, and he couldn't pin down what he was doing to precipitate it. "Yes, I do know, Vila. Go on."

Vila wanted to get this right. "Carnell says after Blake disappeared, you know, after the Andromedan War—"

"Yes, Vila, I was there, remember?" Avon said drily.

"Yeah, well, after that he became the nasty Blake all the time, the one that supported the Federation. He started joining rebel groups and betraying them to the Feds."

Avon stared at him. "That's not possible."

"Yes, it is, Avon. They _know_ that. They have proofs apparently."

"Ridiculous."

"Carnell said it probably started even while Blake was with us, though he might not have known he was doing it."

"Make sense, Vila. How could he betray some rebel group and not know?"

"Remember those times when he'd seem sort of lost?"

"Thinking up suicidal plans for us to carry out for his beloved Cause."

"No, I think he was trying to figure out what was happening in gaps in his memory. I don't mean the memories he lost when they conditioned him; I mean on the _Liberator_. You know, like finding himself sitting in a room and not remembering how he came there, or when.

"You know how we used to find him sitting on the flightdeck couch looking like he was puzzling something out? Maybe it was because the other Blake had been off contacting the Federation about some rebels we had contact with. Maybe the nice Blake didn't know about that. When we'd find him like that, he was usually pretty nice, wasn't he?" Vila paused. He once had a gap like that himself, when one of the "reform" treatments almost worked. It had wrecked his nerves for days until he remembered what happened during the gap.

"Go on, I'm listening."

"Carnell said he's pretty sure it had already started about the time of the conference on Atlay. You know, when Ven Glynd had that box thing that was beaming the conditioning signal to Blake's brain. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember, since I'm the one who had to figure out how to destroy the blasted thing," Avon replied impatiently. "Keep going."

"He also said it could have started sooner. He might have given away Kasabi's people on Earth. Maybe that's why Servalan and Travis were already there, waiting, and killed them all.

"Then I got to thinking about some things. Remember when all those pursuit ships found us near Brindle's World? Does that make sense to you? _Twenty-nine _pursuit ships just happened to be hanging around that forgotten part of space with everyone twiddling their thumbs? _Nine_ flotillas with a couple of extra ships thrown in? They knew we would be passing there, Avon. They knew."

Avon was thinking furiously. Vila was right. The near-massacre at Brindle's World couldn't have been a coincidence. And how had Travis found them so easily over that misbegotten, nameless planet where Blake and Jenna had been forced to fight with Travis and his mutoid? Space was too big for that. How had Travis known how to contact them with his ridiculous proposal to join forces at Exbar? Avon's mind was going round and round.

"Avon," Vila said gently. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Vila. What else?" he said slowly. He was staring through the wall again, but with purpose this time.

"I think—" He cleared his throat. "I think Blake sold us out at Gauda Prime. It's a stupid place for a rebel base. Soolin said no self-respecting idealist would be found dead there." _I wish I hadn't said that_. "I don't think it was really a rebel base at all. I think it really _was _a set up. I think Blake set _you_ up." _There. It's out._ "So you see why I said people think you're a hero? They knew, Avon. They knew Blake was working for the Feds."

Avon never heard the last. He was thinking too hard about how the pieces were starting to fit into place. "Vila, I need to do some thinking. Alone, Vila."

Vila hesitated. He didn't want to leave Avon alone.

"Really, Vila. It's all right. I'm not going to do anything foolish. I just need to come to terms with some of this," he said. "You can go. Go help Dayna, and then get some sleep. I'll be all right. In fact, I'll be just fine."

* * *

Early the next morning—too early for Vila's taste—he staggered into Avon's room under the weight of two very large, very heavy duffel bags and dropped them beside the bed. "Avon?" he called. No Avon. He peeked into the minuscule washroom. Not there either. Vila looked around for some clue and touched the bed. It was cold. Something bad must have happened to Avon. In near panic he ran to the door and nearly fell into Avon's lap as Dayna guided his chair into the room. 

"You've been out early. Where have you been?" Vila asked accusingly.

"Dayna's been helping me collect some things for the trip." Avon took two knapsacks from his lap and thrust them at Vila. "Take these."

"What am I supposed to do with them?"

"Carry them."

"Put them in those duffel bags, Vila," Dayna instructed and parked Avon's chair.

Avon got up and walked over to the duffel bags. "What are these?"

"Just some things I thought we'd need for the trip."

"Such as?"

"Extra socks, some soap, some credit chits, some shampoo, some lotion, a couple of guns, a few snacks, a bookscreen, a couple of knives, some clean shirts, some extra pairs of trousers, a deck of cards . . ."

"Credit chits, guns, and knives?" Avon asked.

"I thought they might come in handy," Vila explained.

Dayna rolled her eyes. "What were you planning on doing? Engaging Wrell's people in a poker game and shooting or stabbing them if they didn't pay up?"

"Get rid of them, Vila," Avon instructed.

"Why?"

"Because I've already put credit chits, guns, knives, and _false identity cards _in the knapsacks."

"Oh." Vila knelt and started rummaging around in a duffel bag, pulling things out. "That it then?"

"No. _One _extra pair of socks, _one _extra shirt, _one _extra trousers, and the soap. The rest stays here," Avon finished.

Dayna had been pawing through the debris and held up the deck of cards. "Marked?" She displayed a pair of dice in the other hand. "Loaded?"

Vila looked affronted. "Of course. A fellow has to make an honest living." He began stuffing the permitted items into one duffel. At least now he wouldn't have to carry so much. He zipped it shut. "Are we ready to go now?"

Avon sat back down in the chair. "Any questions about my instructions, Dayna?"

"No, I've got it all. I'll be there to meet Jenna when she comes in."

"Let's go then. Vila, pick up the bag."

* * *

They arrived at the docking bay a few minutes later. Dock workers were loading containers of supplies onto the ship and closing and fastening maintenance hatches on the hull. Wrell stood over to one side with Sub-Commander Chelsin. Wrell's people, seven of them, were checking their weapons and going over the contents of their bags. 

Vila had just turned to Avon when he saw him start and then stare intently. Vila followed Avon's eyes with his own. "Oh, no, Avon." Dayna looked up too.

One of Wrell's people was a young woman with long, blond hair. For a moment, she looked like Soolin. Thankfully the spell was broken when she turned around. Her face was very different from Soolin's. Avon forced his eyes around to the others. They all looked very young to Avon. It was disquieting.

Dayna leaned close to his ear, "Avon, I don't see any crew besides the man coming towards us. Nobody's supervising the dockworkers. Is that normal?"

"Vila, get the knapsacks out," Avon said.

Vila dropped the duffel at his feet and knelt to remove the knapsacks. The pilot came over to Avon's group. "That your only bag, sir? Put this tag on it and it'll be taken to your cabin. You can board when you're ready. Your cabin is the third one on the left. Task is already there with his equipment." He went to join Wrell and Chelsin.

_Task_.

Vila attached the tag to the duffel and stood up, the knapsacks slung over his shoulder. "Well, I guess we'd better go ahead and board, Avon." He moved around to guide Avon's chair.

Avon said to Dayna, "If all goes well, we'll be back here in five days with Orac. If not, you know what you're supposed to do."

She nodded, "Yes. Take care of yourselves. Look after him, Vila." She headed for the observation room to watch the ship depart.

Vila guided the chair up the ramp and found the cabin after nearly propelling Avon's mobile chair into a storage compartment. Avon was glad no-one had seen that. "Third door" and "third cabin" weren't the same thing.

Their cabin was big enough for four, but Task's bulky equipment took up most of one of the bunks. He was stowing a duffel in a cabinet under the bunk when they entered. "Good morning," he greeted. "There's room for your bags in those cabinets under there," he paused as a crew member set Avon and Vila's duffel inside the doorway. "Travel light, don't you?"

"You don't," Vila observed. "What's all that?" He nodded at the laden bunk.

"Some of it is equipment for Avon's therapy, and the rest is medical and other emergency supplies."

Avon got out of the chair and sat on the other lower bunk experimentally, bouncing up and down slightly. Not too bad. He swung his legs up and leaned back against the pillow, his head resting on hands. He looked up at the bottom of the bunk over his. "What is that?"

"You've never been on one of these old military craft before, have you?" Task asked. "That's a safety web. If you things get rough, you pull on these tabs to lower the web and clamp it into place. It keeps you from getting thrown about the cabin."

Vila looked alarmed. "We're not likely to need them, are we?"

"I hope not. It's just standard on these tubs because the gravity compensators aren't very responsive. Our chief problem is going to be what to occupy our time with, aside from Avon's therapy." He grinned. Avon grimaced. "This might help." Task pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. "Six card Lindo, five credit ante, jacks are wild."

* * *

The pilot signalled readiness to Chelsin, who turned back to Wrell. "Anything else, sir?" 

"If you have to drag Kerr Avon all over that benighted planet to get that computer, do it."

"And if I can only get one of them out, which one do you want, sir?"

"Which one do you think?"

* * *

Jenna cut the main engines and sighed with relief. Scrubbing her face with her hands, she spoke into the intercom, "Everybody secure your stations and go see your families. But stay ready. We may have to leave in a hurry." 

She released the comm switch and turned to Tarrant, "Sometimes I wish detector shields had never been invented. Life used to be so much easier: you could always pinpoint your opponent."

"I wish we had _Scorpio's _stardrive," he said. Jenna gave him a quizzical look. He explained, "Neat little box of tricks we picked up on Caspar. Could go up to TD fifteen."

"Whew! That could come in handy. But I'll settle for my own detector shields whenever I can afford them."

"And more guns."

"And bigger engines."

"And a better force wall."

"And bigger cabins."

"And longer bunks."

They grinned at each other.

"We don't want much, do we?" Jenna stood and stretched. "I'd better go let Avalon know she needs to do some serious testing on those weapons. You're free to stay here on the ship or go back to your base quarters, whichever you'd prefer. Just be sure you've got your locator with you. We might need to leave in a hurry, and we might not be able to come back for a while if anybody followed us." She left.

_Free to stay on the ship,_ thought Tarrant. _I guess that means I'm hired_. He stood up and stretched. It wouldn't take him more than half an hour to clear out his quarters and put his few belongings in his shipboard cabin. After that, he was going to catch a nap. Later he'd find Dayna and see if she could set him up with a practice target and a gun. He'd better start learning how to shoot all over again.

* * *

Jenna saw only Dayna when she came down the ramp. _I guess Avon's not up to leaving the medical unit yet_, she thought with regret. "We had a little trouble," Jenna told the younger woman. 

"I'm not surprised. I'll bet I know what it was," Dayna replied.

"You found defective guns?"

Dayna nodded.

Jenna sighed. "I guess I'd better go talk to Avalon."

"Don't bother; she knows," explained Dayna. "Come to the armoury and I'll show you what we've been working on." They walked briskly towards the corridor to the armoury.

"Where are Avon and Vila?" Jenna asked.

"Gone to Gauda Prime, to get Orac."

"What? Is Avon fit enough for that?"

"No, but you know Avon when he wants something."

Jenna gave a brief laugh. "Don't I ever!" Then she asked, "What did you find with the weapons?"

"Too many defectives. Only two or three guns out of each crate are any good—the ones stacked at the top of the crate. Burrs in the focussing chambers, missing reflecting lenses, and hairline fractures in the triggering mechanisms. We can cobble together some usable guns out of the parts, but not enough. What happened to you?"

"We were chased, just out from Xaranar. We recognized the chaser as someone I've been buying weapons from, but he had no reason to come after us except perhaps to conceal his presence on Xaranar. He worked out of Pelson," Jenna explained.

"Not surprising. Those were the first defectives I found." Dayna palmed the armoury door open. "I'll show you the results in Avon's programme. We're still testing shipments, but it looks like you're the specific target." She punched some buttons on the computer console.

Jenna leaned over and studied the display. "Yes, I see. Well, how can I help?"

Dayna smiled sympathetically. "You can get some rest and food. When you're ready, come back here and you can help with the inspections or feed results into the programme."

"Thanks," she smiled and stifled a yawn. "I'll see you later."

* * *

"Avalon, Jenna Stannis is here to see you." 

"Thank you, Reice. Send her in."

Jenna dropped into a chair without invitation, exhausted. "I know about the defective weapons, Avalon. I've seen Dayna."

Avalon frowned fleetingly. _Dayna again._ "I appreciate her getting you into the loop so quickly," she said with slight annoyance. "Now we have to determine who is behind the defective guns and contain the problem."

"I already know one person who was behind it. A slimy character named Pendle, or Linson, as Tarrant knew him. He operated out of Pelson, "Jenna explained.

"Past tense?"

"He chased us from Xaranar. We blasted him."

"Is that the end of the problem then?"

"No, he had to be working for someone else. His craft was too expensive to pay for with only gun running profits. Now I have to find out who financed him."

"It's a pity you weren't able to question him," Avalon said with slight criticism.

"Yes, well, we would have enjoyed sweating it out of him, but his blaster bolts persuaded us to go ahead and space the rat."

"I'm sorry. That was rude of me. Have you any suggestions?"

"Dayna's going to keep on checking shipments, and I'll help her after I've had some rest. We can pull Tarrant in too. But I don't want to spend much time here, Avalon. I don't think we were followed, but I'd rather steer clear of Horizon for a while. I've still got to make a living, and I don't want to risk leading anyone to the base," Jenna explained.

"Of course. I'll arrange payment for the last shipment—"Avalon began.

"No," Jenna interrupted. "You don't have to pay for bad goods, Avalon. I'm a businesswoman, and that's just part of doing business." _And I don't want to be in your debt, _she added to herself.

"If you prefer, Jenna. Let me know if there's anything you need."

"Thanks, I just need my bed now."


	6. Chapter 6

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 6 of 12

About two hours after departure and a hundred of Vila's credits, Task stood and announced, "I'm going for a little recce. Locate the food dispensers, heads, things like that. I'll be back shortly." He palmed the door open and left.

Avon looked up from the bookscreen he had been entertaining himself with—Task's bookscreen—and commented, "A hundred credits? You always said you were good with cards, Vila."

"Good with _marked _cards. When you're good with those, you don't have to be good at actually _playing _the game." He gathered up the cards and began checking the math on the scorepad, a mournful expression on his face as he neared the bottom without finding any errors. Well, that was easy enough to fix—_tap, tap, tap_. Now he'd lost only fifty credits.

Avon put the bookscreen down and reached under the bunk, sliding open the door and pulling out the knapsacks. He began rummaging through one, checking the contents.

Vila watched for a few moments. "You didn't trust them."

"No. I wanted to make sure our 'personal belongings' got on board." He pulled a pocket comp out, closed the knapsack, and picked up the other knapsack, rummaging through it too. "A group as large as Avalon's? You know there has to be at least one Federation agent embedded. Probably also people from rival groups."

"Rival groups?"

"You didn't think the Rebellion was just one big, happy family, did you? They've all got their own ideas of how to run the Terran Federation after they gloriously overthrow the evil government. I'm sure they all picture themselves modestly agreeing to assume the role of People's Leader and governing the entire Federation with benevolence and wisdom." He pulled out another pocket comp and closed the knapsack.

"Bit of a cynic, aren't you?" Vila rolled his eyes heavenwards. "I can't believe I said that; you invented cynicism."

"Not at all. I just raised it to new heights."

"What have you got there?"

Avon handed one of the pocket comps to Vila. "I've been transmitting a simple pulse code to another pocket comp. Dayna is checking it every few hours for the signal. If the signal changes, she knows to contact Jenna for help. They can also be set as homing beam transmitters, using Jenna's covert frequency." He demonstrated to Vila how to access the menu for the signals, then put the pocket comps back in the knapsacks.

Vila began to look nervous. "You're expecting something, aren't you? Something more than just the general unfriendliness of the locals on Gauda Prime. You don't think some of Wrell's people are Federation agents, do you?" Nervousness was nudging panic.

"Calm down, Vila. I don't think it's very likely that any of Wrell's people are spies; I just think they all look too young and overconfident. Wrell struck me as overconfident too. He's probably never commanded anything other than a mobile commissary. I think we'd better be prepared to rely on ourselves." He pulled the guns and extra energy packs out of the knapsacks and started checking their charges.

"But we're supposed to stay on the ship, Avon! We're not supposed to go outside!" Panic was responding to Nervousness' nudges.

"We might not have a choice, Vila. I'm planning on staying on the ship too, but I want to be prepared just in case." He put the guns back in the knapsacks and tucked them back in the cabinet. Then he looked at Vila for a moment. He said quietly, "I'm sorry, Vila. I shouldn't have made you come. It was unfair."_ It's what Blake used to do to us. He was always ready to risk our lives for his Cause._

Vila's near-panic subsided a little in the face of one of Avon's rare, genuine apologies. It always made him feel guilty somehow, like he should be the one apologising. "No, forget it, Avon. You didn't make me come; I would have come anyway. I'll just make the best of it—"

The cabin door slid open, and Task came in. He sat on the other bunk and gave Avon and Vila a knowing look. "I'll bet you've been discussing the same thing I've been thinking since we boarded." He grinned, "Don't these folks all look a little young to you?"

"They are," Avon agreed.

"A little inexperienced, wouldn't you say?"

"Probably."

"That's what I've been thinking. I've been checking out the personnel while I've been checking out the facilities. And, yes, they're all young—confident, but young. Oh, and they're a little agog at having glimpsed the famous Kerr Avon. You might want to take a couple of strolls around the ship later so they can all bask in your glory."

Task returned to the main subject, "And since they're all so young and confident, I thought perhaps I should add a few things to our baggage." He began pulling guns and extra energy packs out of his jacket and handing them to Vila and Avon. Some knives came out next. "They've got extra camouflage suits; I'll get us some of those later."

Vila fought with his reemerging panic. He looked at the gun Task handed him and glanced quickly at the cabinet under Avon's bunk. That decided Avon. He opened the cabinet and pulled out their knapsacks. Emptying the contents on his bunk so Task could see, he said, "We were a little nervous too."

* * *

Tarrant awoke feeling better than he had in days. It was amazing what—he checked his watch—_ten hours? _of sleep could do. He stretched lazily and started digging through his tiny closet for a clean jumpsuit. After a quick trip to the base mess, he would look for Dayna and see what she could offer in the way of weapons practice. 

He heard some banging when he was nearly to the ramp and followed it back to the cargo hold. Dase was supervising a couple of contructioneers as they moved about partitioning off a portion of the hold. "What's going on, Dase? Some special cargo?"

"Hi, Tarrant." She lowered her voice, "A very special cargo. Cap says we won't be coming back here for a while, and she wants to get Lissa's and Dev's families out with us. We're going to take them to the United Planets of Teal. Lissa has family there, and they'll get everyone settled in. A couple of others too, maybe. Between you and me, I don't think Cap ever had much confidence in Horizon's usefulness as a base for us."

"I'd agree. I don't believe much thought went into selecting it, but I don't suppose there was much choice at the time."

"Not for Avalon, but we're not rebels. We have more choices."

"Thankfully. I'll see you later. I've got some things I need to do on base." He sketched a goodbye and left.

_Dayna will have to go with us_, he thought as headed for the armoury instead of the mess hall. _And Vila . . . and Avon._ It was a small ship. It would be difficult for them to avoid each other now. _Get over it, Del._

After some confusion he was finally compelled to ask directions to the armoury. They weren't much better than the directions Dase had given him for the Performance Under Pressure test, and he was half expecting to find a storage compartment when he palmed open the third door on the left.

Dayna, Jenna, and a man he didn't know looked around at him.

"Tarrant!" Dayna cried and embraced him lightly. "I've missed you." She added under her breath, "How was it?"

"Good," he murmured as she took his hand and led him over to where Jenna was sitting at the computer console. "What's going on here?"

"We were correct to suspect something wrong with the weapons Pendle was selling us," Jenna said. "Feld," the man nodded at Tarrant, "and Dayna have found that everything he sold me was defective. And it doesn't end there. Most of my shipments from Rabern, Kale, Halfrin, and Aber were bad too. It seems some of Pendle's 'peers' were working for the same boss, whoever that is."

"What can I do to help?" Tarrant asked.

Dayna started to answer when Jenna said, "You can start getting good with a hand gun. I have a feeling we're going to need all the help we can get."

"Right," Dayna agreed, opening a gun locker and pulling out a small, but powerful looking, gun. "This one can be set to range from 'light stun' all the way up to 'kill.' You can also adjust the spread of the bolt with this. I imagine you'll want a wide spread until you regain accuracy. Just remember if you have it set on 'kill' and 'wide,' it will drain the power sooner." She set it on light stun and handed it to him. "There's a target room through that door," she pointed. "You'll love the target."

He did. It was a fairly good portrait of Servalan. This was going to be satisfying. He'd wanted to nail her since they had met up on Virn last year.

Tarrant had practised for about an hour when he judged that Feld must be gone. He wanted to talk to Jenna and Dayna about getting away from Horizon and didn't want to cause a general panic amongst the base personnel.

Good, just Jenna and Dayna. "Captain, Dase told me you want to get away from Horizon for a while," he said.

"That's right. Even if we weren't followed all the way here, just plotting our general direction could have given someone a good idea of where to look for us. There's nothing else out here besides Horizon. It's only a matter of time before the Federation finds the base anyway. There has to be at least one spy in that collection of camp followers outside the base, and there's no protection here apart from three small, obsolete military craft—two, now that one has gone to Gauda Prime."

Tarrant's head jerked around. "Gauda Prime?"

Jenna looked both exasperated and worried. "Avon and Vila went back to get Orac."

"Avon's fit?"

Dayna answered, "No, but he was determined to go anyway. You know what he's like, Tarrant."

_Yeah, I know what he's like_, thought Tarrant. _I never met a more stubborn person in my life._ "And Vila went with him? Yes, of course Vila went with him. What am I saying?" He turned back to Jenna, "You're cutting ties with the rebels?"

"My sympathies are still with the Rebellion, but I can't give my life over to it entirely." She looked thoughtful for a moment. _I truly tried to, Blake._ "Besides, someone's going to start putting all our faces together and come up with several million credits. I think it's time we left."

"But," Dayna bit her lip, "I need to wait until Avon and Vila come back." The others looked at her questioningly. "I'm their safety net. Avon knew Avalon wouldn't permit contact with Base during their mission, and he didn't have much confidence in Wrell's people to get them back safely. He's been transmitting simple status signals to me. Just pulse codes, but enough to know if they're all right or not. He said if something went wrong to find you, Jenna. You'd know what to do."

"It's all right, Dayna. I wouldn't abandon them, though I had thought to get Lissa's and Dev's families to Teal and come back for Avon and Vila. I thought that would give Avon more time to take advantage of the medical facilities here," Jenna explained.

They grew silent, thinking furiously. Tarrant spoke first, "Could we leave the families here temporarily and start towards Gauda Prime? That way we would be close if there's trouble, and the families might be safer. Still," he paused, thinking out loud, "Gauda Prime is one of the most dangerous places I've ever been, in the air or on the ground. I'm not sure we'd be able to help Avon and Vila if they were in trouble on the surface. We might not make it down intact ourselves. We didn't the last time." _When I lost Avon's ship for him—and caused him to kill his friend_, he added silently.

"Tarrant!" Dayna protested. "We can't just leave them there!"

"I won't, Dayna. But maybe I can find some other way to get there that doesn't involve dragging everyone along with me and getting shot down," he explained.

"I know a perfect way to do it," Jenna smiled at them. "If you go in transmitting merchant's credentials, they'll welcome you with open arms."

"Could you do that somehow?" Dayna asked Tarrant.

"I'll have to get myself onto a merchant ship," he glanced at his empty sleeve, "somehow."

_Youth_. Jenna's smile broadened. She waited. Slowly Dayna and Tarrant registered comprehension. "You two have been thinking outside the law for too long," Jenna laughed. "I've got _genuine _merchant's credentials. I've been there several times. And I can find a legitimate cargo to take in and justify taking passengers out."

Dayna was delighted, "We're fixed then. What do you need me to do?"

"The _Lady _will be ready to leave tomorrow. You collect your belongings and take them to the ship now so that you can be ready to leave any time. You too, Tarrant. I'll go talk to the Brins and the Devrils and tell them that they'll have more time to get their families ready. Then I'll make arrangements for a cargo to take into Gauda Prime."

"I've already moved my things onto the ship," Tarrant explained. "I'll stay here and get in more target practice. I may be needing it."

"I'll get going. Dayna, when you take your belongings to the _Lady_, Dase will give you a locator so we can reach you when we're ready to go."

As soon as the door slid shut behind Jenna, Dayna pulled open a cabinet and took out a duffel.

"You've got your things here?" Tarrant asked.

"No, but we're going to need these." She began picking up and examining handguns, selecting several and tucking them into the bag with extra energy cells. Then she started sorting through various other devices on the shelves, selecting some at random and adding them to her collection. When the bag couldn't hold any more, she hoisted it up on her shoulder. Too heavy. "Here, take this to the ship now," she told Tarrant.

"But they're not ours," he protested half heartedly.

"They are now. Nobody's paid me for any of my work here. I've been testing and repairing weapons for five weeks now. They owe me. When you drop them at the ship, bring back that locator for me. Then you can stay and practice some more while I get everything out of my cabin. I'll come back and keep testing Jenna's gun shipments so everything will look normal." She saw the question on his face. _You're not devious enough, Tarrant_. "Jenna wouldn't want anyone to notice us doing anything out of the ordinary. I've been testing weapons, I'll keep on testing weapons until we're ready to leave. Now go on."

Tarrant left, trying to look as though the bag didn't weigh much, and Dayna grabbed some pocket comps and started downloading Avon's programmes.

* * *

Jenna wasn't really surprised to find the Brins and the Devrils ready to go. They were spacers' families, and they were used to living spare and leaving at a moment's notice. What did surprise her a little was their insistence on leaving Horizon now and not waiting for the _Lady _to return from Gauda Prime. Apparently Lissa and Dev were more nervous than she was about spending any more time on the rebel base. Better let Dase know those additional cabins needed to be ready _now_. 

"Cap, we've got two of the cabins built. They're just starting on the third," Dase greeted her.

Jenna moved close and kept her voice low, "Everybody's going to have to get cozy, Dase. We don't have time for a third."

"It's probably just as well. I'm getting a little uncomfortable here myself."

"Why, did something happen?" Jenna asked quickly.

"No, but there's two dockworkers I don't like the looks of. They're not here now, so I can't point them out to you. I've never seen them before, and they don't seem to be very productive, for docking bay workers," Dase explained.

"You didn't let them on the ship, did you? No, of course you didn't," Jenna corrected herself.

"The only ones I let on the ship were Ben and Jerrell. They're good guys. Who's coming?"

"Dayna Mellanby—"

"Already here."

"And the Brins and the Devrils," Jenna finished.

"I've put Dayna in one of the new cabins, and Gilley can share with me. The Brins can share Lissa's cabin, and Cully and Linn can sort themselves out between the other new cabin and Dev's."

"I'll tell Dayna to stay on the ship, and then I'll find Tarrant. Can we be ready to go that quickly?"

"We're ready now," Dase replied.

* * *

Jenna found Tarrant practising in the armoury. "Come on, Tarrant, we're leaving now." 

"So soon? I thought we were going to keep testing weapons to keep up appearances."

"I got nervous. I don't want to wait and see if something goes wrong for Avon and Vila. I have a feeling it will."

Tarrant followed her through to the inspection room and opened a cabinet to put away the gun he'd been using. He thought again and slipped it down into a thigh pocket instead. "Why do you think something's going to happen?"

"Because Dase said she saw a couple of dockworkers that made her nervous. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she said they didn't act quite right. Don't hurry, look casual." She smiled pleasantly at a passerby in demonstration.

She continued, sotto voce, "I've talked with the Brins and the Devrils. They're uneasy too. They'll be coming with us now instead of waiting. Do you need to get anything else on base?"

"No. Everything I have is on the ship." He smiled and nodded at a passerby. "Where's Dayna?"

"Already on board."

"Does Avalon know we're leaving?"

"I told her yesterday that I'd be leaving soon, just not when. She doesn't know about Dayna and the families. And she doesn't need to," Jenna added.

"Won't someone remark on the families leaving?"

"No, we sometimes take them on short holiday trips. No-one should think enough about it to tell Avalon. Hopefully if anyone's spotted Dayna boarding, they'll think she's going on holiday too."

"How are we going to get Avon and Vila? If the mission goes okay, they'll be heading back here while we're flying in circles. We can't just chase them down and board them in space."

Jenna smiled as though she'd enjoy doing just that. "A little too much like piracy? I certainly wouldn't be getting any more business from Avalon, would I? If they get back here, I'll contact them and tell Vila to get the two of them off the base. They can 'borrow' a surface vehicle and get far enough away that we can land and pick them up without being seen."

They reached the docking bay. Jenna motioned Tarrant to slow down and hang back. She nodded at a man and two adolescents, a boy and a girl, approaching the ramp. "The Devrils. Let them get out of sight before we board. A 'crowd' would draw attention."

Tarrant had never spaced with children. He was glad these weren't small. "Is it really fair to children? This kind of life, I mean."

"Is London Dome fair to children? Or anywhere else in the Federation? If there's a place that's 'fair' to children, I haven't found it yet. Not in the Federation anyway. I'm still planning on taking them to Teal as soon as we can. It's outside the Federation, for now at least. These two are lucky to be alive. Their parents were killed five years ago. I think the mother was Earn's sister. They didn't have any other family, and the Devrils wanted the children, so it's been happy for everyone. They're smart kids; they know when to help and when to keep out of the way. Let's go."

Lissa and Dev were prepping their stations for departure when Jenna and Tarrant reached the flightdeck. Another man, introduced as Arne Brin, was working at the ship's computer with Dayna. She was displaying items on one of her pocket comps for him, and he was punching keys rapidly.

Jenna sat down and keyed the intercom, "Dase, are you ready to go?"

"Ready, Cap."

"Everyone else?"

"Aye, Captain."

"Arne?"

"What I'm doing here won't interfere. You can go any time." He turned back to the computer.

"Let's get out of here," Jenna said.

Vila thought perhaps Wrell's people—Wrell's Raiders, as Avon had begun calling them unkindly—might like to bask in a little reflected glory, so he sought them out for some friendly card games.

"Hello there! I'm Vila Restal. Mind if I join you?"

The Raiders moved around on the benches to make room for him. "Please do, sir," the pretty blonde specialist invited. Vila was no fool; he sat beside her.

"Just call me Vila," he told them. "What do you folks do for entertainment around here?"

"We've been playing Aces Over. Would you care to play, si—Vila?" the freckled specialist corrected himself.

"I don't think I've played that before. How does it go?"

Twenty minutes later, Vila had lost just enough to keep them hungry and talkative. He didn't need marked cards with this bunch; they were terrible players. "Where did you get your training?" he asked, frowning at his hand.

The black haired specialist answered, "On Horizon. We joined the Rebellion from different places and met on Horizon when we were sent there for training. Sub-commander Chelsin trained us. He was in the Federation military for a short time before he joined Avalon." He discarded one card and drew another, rearranging the cards in his hand.

Pretty Blonde picked up the card and discarded one of her own. "Where did you get your training, Vila?"

"Training? Oh, I never had any formal training. Mine was strictly practical." Vila unwisely discarded two cards and drew two more. "I met Avon when we led a mutiny on a Federation high security ship. They were taking us to a maximum security facility." There was no need to tell them Blake had led the mutiny with a handful of common criminals and that Vila accidentally helped quell it by getting confused and dropping his gun at a crucial moment. Besides, he never dropped guns anymore.

"We were on the run for eight years, striking at the Federation, obtaining funds for the Rebellion, breaking people out of Federation custody. You know the sort of thing. That's how I met Avalon. We got her out of an interrogation facility on an ice planet.

"Mind you, it wasn't _all _the Rebellion. We also helped other folks in trouble. Restored President Sarkoff of Lindor; terminated Cancer, the famous assassin; interrupted the drug trade at Space City." No need to mention he was staggering around the _Liberator_ thoroughly drunk and uselessly hungover throughout the Space City operation. "Have any of you ever been on Gauda Prime before?"

"Sub-commander Chelsin has, but none of the rest of us. What's it like?" Freckles asked.

"Very pretty to look at, very deadly to deal with," Vila answered.

Blackie rearranged his hand and discarded. "Didn't you have a local woman with you there?"

Vila suddenly felt very sad and very sorry for these inexperienced kids. "Yes, she was a native of Gauda Prime, and she'd grown up in that deadly place. It still got her in the end. Keep that in mind. The planet itself isn't the problem; it's the nasty characters that have overrun it. They'll kill you in an instant and enjoy it."

Pretty Blonde laid down her hand for display. "This one's mine, boys."

The rest of them groaned and tossed down their cards. Pretty Blonde started gathering them up. "Another hand?"

Vila stood. "Too rich for me. You're all too good for this old man. I need to be getting back to Avon anyway. He may be needing my help. I'll play you again after the mission's over." He paused at the door, "Remember what I said: Gauda Prime will try to kill you. Be careful."

* * *

Jenna tapped her fingers nervously on the flight console, then stopped and looked at them. She returned her hand to her lap. She'd once snapped at Cally for doing that. Mostly she tried not to think of Cally. Vila had told her, in fits and starts, how Cally had died. When you're young, you don't think about how easily friends could die. When you're older, you don't want to. 

She thought about how terrible it would be to lose Avon or Vila, her only friends left from those days on the _Liberator_. The finest ship in the galaxy, and hers to fly. Somehow that seemed to her to have been the most important, the best, part of her life. She couldn't bear to lose those two. It would hurt more than Blake, she decided.

They were two hours out from Lylas, where they were going to pick up a cargo of entertainment media for Gauda Prime. Ordinarily it was a profitable cargo: compact, with a high value. She could have turned a nice profit on Gauda Prime—people there were desperate for new entertainment materials. But this time she was going to have to pay a high price for getting the cargo on such short notice, more than she would get for it on Gauda Prime. She'd have to dip into her reserves to refuel.

She glanced around and smiled when Gilley Devril stepped through the door carefully, carrying a cup tray with three sealed mugs nestled in it. "I brought coffee, everyone."

"Thanks, Gilley. Why don't you stay for a while and study the flightdeck systems?" Jenna suggested.

"Thank you, Captain Stannis. I'd appreciate that." She handed around the coffee and joined Dev at the navigator's console. They were soon murmuring questions and answers.

Jenna watched them, amused. She knew the coffee was more than just refreshments for the crew. Gilley wanted to fly someday. She was methodically working her way through the ship's systems, learning everything she could. Her brother was probably down in the engine room working on some worthwhile task assigned by Dase. He preferred the more mechanical aspects of the ship. Jenna enjoyed spacing with the children. They always took her out of herself.

* * *

"I can see why you'd want to stay on the _Lady_, Tarrant. It's a neat little ship, and the crew are super," Dayna was saying. They had squeezed into the galley for their first chance to talk since departure. "I have to ask though, have you made a decision about a prosthesis?" 

"Yes, I'm going to need one. I can do an adequate job handling the ship with one arm, but I really need two if I want to fly. And I mean _really _fly. If it had been me instead of Captain Stannis on the flightdeck when we were attacked, I couldn't have done the things she was able to do with the ship. I'll be saving every credit I can get my hands on."

"Avon and Vila can probably find a way to help."

Tarrant's checks warmed, and he looked down into his coffee. "Yes, well, I don't think I could ask Avon to help."

"Why not? You can't stay angry with him forever, Tarrant."

He jerked his head up. "What?"

"I said you can't stay angry with him forever."

"I'm not angry with him. Why do you think that?"

"Because you wouldn't go see him in the medical unit," she said, puzzled. "Why _didn't _you go see him?"

"Because I figure Avon's glad to see the back of me forever."

"Why would he be? Did something happen that I don't know about?"

Tarrant was puzzled now too. "After I lost his ship for him? After four years of my smart-assed challenges to his authority?" He ducked his head again. "After Blake?"

"Blake? What did you have to do with Blake?"

"I screwed up. I misunderstood. I caused Avon to think Blake was betraying him and to kill him. Causing a man to kill his friend is about as bad as you can get, Dayna."

"Blake? . . . Tarrant, you don't know, do you?"

His head came up again. "Know what?"

"About Blake."

Puzzled, he shook his head mutely.

"You were right, Tarrant, Blake _was _betraying Avon. He was betraying everyone. The whole base was a set up for getting Avon. Blake was working for the Federation—possibly even Servalan," she added darkly.

He tried to assimilate what she was saying. "Does Avon know?"

"He does now. Vila told him. And I must say it made a difference in him. He didn't seem to really care whether he recovered or not until then. After Vila told him, he started acting like Avon again. That was a relief, I can tell you."

She got up to put her mug away in the autowash, saying, "Avon will be on this ship in a few days. You'll see, Tarrant; he's not angry with you. Look, I have to get back to work now. I'm improving the scatter guns, and I want them in good shape before we get to Gauda Prime. We may need them, in spite of Jenna's confidence in having merchant's credentials. I'll tell you some more about Blake later. You're not going to believe what a phony he was."

Tarrant sat staring for a few minutes after she'd gone. Blake was a traitor. He'd tried to kill or capture Avon for the Federation. Avon was so perverse he might still blame Tarrant for killing Blake—Tarrant had never understood Avon—but maybe he wouldn't blame Tarrant for Blake. _Good, then. That just leaves my smart-assed behaviour and losing his ship for him. Avon's going to love me. _

_

* * *

_

Prestell stuck his head through the door and hissed, "He's coming." The three mission specialists in the cabin waited and watched. Avon walked slowly past their door, looking neither left nor right, and continued down the corridor. His body guards were with him as usual.

When he was out of earshot, Freckles said knowingly, "He's going to give orders to the sub-commander or pilot." The others nodded wisely in agreement.

Prestell stuck his head through the door and hissed, "He's coming." The three mission specialists in the cabin waited and watched. Avon walked slowly past their door, looking neither left nor right, and continued down the corridor. His body guards were with him as usual. Prestell stuck his head through the door and hissed, "He's coming." The three mission specialists in the cabin waited and watched. Avon walked slowly past their door, looking neither left nor right, and continued down the corridor. His body guards were with him as usual. Prestell stuck his head through the door and hissed, "He's coming." The three mission specialists in the cabin waited and watched. Avon walked slowly past their door, looking neither left nor right, and continued down the corridor. His body guards were with him as usual. 

"He doesn't look all that special, does he?" Blackie said. "Just from looking at him, you wouldn't think he single-handedly wiped out that turncoat Blake and three of his bodyguards would you?"

"I heard it was five bodyguards," offered Pretty Blonde. "And that was after successfully evading entire fleets sent to hunt him for eight years. I heard he's a fantastic pilot."

"He also designed the major systems on that supership, _Liberator_," added Freckles.

"And disarmed a string of neutron bombs on Albion," Blackie said.

Avon and his "bodyguards" passed the doorway again on their way back to their cabin. Pretty Blonde watched him thoughtfully. She decided he was really quite handsome, if a little old. He must be at least forty-five.

It was their third promenade around the ship, Task walking beside Avon in case he got wobbly, and Vila bringing up the rear. Task had been willing to accept the walks as adequate therapy, much to Avon's relief, and they had been good cover for adding to their store of "personal items." The list should be complete after this walk. The crew were still somewhat in awe of "the Avenger of Gauda Prime"; Avon would have thought the novelty stale by now. He smiled at the irony. At one time the various Rebel factions had been united in holding up Blake as their beau ideal. Then they were united in cursing him as a traitor. Now the rebels undoubtedly believed Avon was their new champion. The irony was that Avon wasn't even a rebel.

They regained the sanctuary of their cabin, and Avon sat down gratefully. He had been standing and walking as much as possible when he was in their cabin–self-imposed extra therapy—and he was tired now. He watched Vila and Task pull items from their pockets. Task was almost as good a thief as Vila, and he could conceal larger items, being larger than Vila.

They now had nine guns, six knives, camouflage suits, night vision visors, extra large survival blankets, a third pocket comp, flavourless but lightweight concentrate cubes, collapsible water bottles and purification tablets, some lengths of rope, field medical packs, and two large knapsacks to replace the smaller ones Avon brought. Task was splitting their gear up amongst the two large knapsacks.

Their travels around the ship—and Vila's lamentable lack of talent with cards— had also confirmed their previous assessment of the crew and Wrell's people: young, confident, and too inexperienced to know just how very wrongly plans could go. With that in mind, the trio had acquainted themselves with the locations of the nearest life capsules and were careful to stay together. The capsules were designed to carry two combatants and their equipment comfortably. When no-one was around, they'd tested how to get the three of them and their equipment inside. It would be a tight fit, but they could manage. Avon had noted the emergency beacon frequency they used and programmed the pocket comps to track it.

Avon set one of the pocket comps to wake them in nine hours, about one hour before they were due to reach Gauda Prime. They wanted all the sleep time they could get.

* * *

"Avalon, Security Director Jethra is here to see you." 

"Thank you, Riece. Send her—"

Jethra came through the door before she could finish. "We may have been compromised, Avalon.

"What happened?"

"We found two dockworkers, Samuels and Tomas, dead. Their bodies were left in a maintenance crawlway. They were stabbed, probably sometime yesterday."

"Yesterday? And no-one noticed their absence?" Avalon asked incredulously.

"They had no families, and they weren't due on shift until this morning. The dock foreman sent someone round to shake them out of bed about midmorning. He thought they'd tied one on last night and were sleeping it off. It wouldn't be the first time. He wasn't surprised that they weren't in their cabins. They've spent the night out before. People will be people, Avalon. Even rebels."

"How did they come to be found?"

"Routine maintenance on the solid fuel weight gauges."

Avalon sighed, "Couldn't it be a simple homicide?"

"Two people? If it were just one, I'd say that could be it. I'd be looking around for someone angry enough to kill. Those two lived their lives out in the open. If they'd made someone that angry, other people would have commented upon it. I figure they stumbled upon something suspicious."

Avalon got up and walked slowly around to the front of her desk to stand nearer Jethra. "I suppose until you find out who did it, there's no way to know if it was a Federation agent or another rebel group, is there?"

"No. Does it matter? Anyone who would murder to hide their activities means us harm, Avalon. And that someone is probably in contact with a whole group of people who mean us harm." Jethra placed her hand on Avalon's arm. "I don't think we have the luxury of conducting 'business as usual' while we investigate. We need to leave this place as soon as possible."

Avalon returned to her chair and sat down tiredly. "I know, Jethra, but we're short one ship and don't know when it will be back. We can't possibly get everyone out in two ships."

"It could be worse than that. We don't know about the integrity of the two ships we've got. Consider the places Samuels and Tomas were likely to have encountered suspicious activity, Avalon. Those ships can't leave until we're sure of them."

"All right. You get with the supervisors responsible for the docking facilities and ship maintenance, and the pilots. Let them know what's happened. They can get started inspecting the ships. Riece can meet with the other department heads. I'll try to get an audience with Ro and see if he can shelter some of our people temporarily."

"Right away," Jethra acknowledged. She turned back from the door. "You realize once we start with these meetings, whoever is responsible will know we're planning to flee."

"They probably know already, Jethra."

* * *

About two hours before Gauda Prime, the bustling and scurrying on the ship woke Avon and his companions. Vila checked the time and grumbled, "They should have had themselves ready to go all along, like we are. Why did they wait until now to do it, making such a fuss?" 

Avon sat up and rubbed at his face. "They're young, Vila. They think they're invulnerable. Survival is still just a game to them."

Task was more awake. "Probably just as well to be early. It'll give us time to eat some more concentrates. And we'll keep eating as long as we have access to the stores on the ship. You never know when something could go wrong. They might get your computer back to the ship only to get us shot down on takeoff. So I'll get the concentrates, and you and Vila take advantage of the shower. After that, no more moving around, Avon. As of now, no therapy. I want you as fresh as possible at all times. I'll be right back."

_No therapy_. Avon had a little spring in his step as he got up. "Well, come on, Vila. Let's get cleaned up."

They were changing into fresh clothes when Task returned, arms and pockets full of concentrate paks. "I'll snag a shower, and you two start eating. Then we wait."

Vila picked up some paks. "What would you like, Avon? Roast chicken or chopped vegetables? I wonder why they bother chopping them when they're just going to mash them into paste anyway?"

"Does it matter? It all tastes the same. Give me one of each. I'll alternate."

* * *

The pile of empty concentrate paks had grown to a considerable size when they reached Gauda Prime airspace, which announced itself by bouncing and shaking the ship. Task dropped his pak and begin pulling the knapsacks out. "That's our cue!" 

The ship shuddered again, harder. "What's going on!" Vila demanded, half standing.

"Sit down, Vila," Avon ordered. "I imagine we've made the acquaintance of the local patrol again." He lay down on his bunk and pulled the tabs for the safety web.

Task did the same. Vila threw himself into his bunk and pulled the tabs.

"I had a feeling something like this could happen," Task said.

"We're not firing back," Avon added. The ship shook violently and began vibrating slightly.

"Why not?" Vila shouted over the noise of rumbling.

"The guns have been sabotaged," Task shouted back. "When I was boarding, I noticed the crew were letting dock workers swarm all over this ship without supervision." Occasional deep clanging had begun.

"Can't they fix the guns, then?"

Avon joined the shouting contest, "It was probably done from the outside, where the crew can't reach them in flight."

Task unfastened his safety web. "Roll out onto the floor and stay there. Start crawling to the first life capsule on the left. I'll bring the knapsacks. Hurry!"

By the time they reached the capsule, there was smoke in the corridor. A loud klaxon was nearly rupturing their eardrums, and a panic-tinged voice was shouting through the intercom, "Abandon ship! Abandon ship!"

Vila nearly threw Avon into the capsule, and Task shoved Vila in after him. He threw the knapsacks in on top of Vila and wedged himself inside. "Everybody ready?"

"Yes!" Avon and Vila chorused.

"Let's go!" Task pulled the ejection handle.

Suddenly the noise and shaking stopped. They were free falling through space—unnoticed, they hoped. Vila was the only one who could see out of the tiny port. Gauda Prime looked awfully far away. "I hope this is a softer landing than the one I had during the War. I can't do with another broken arm."

Task reassured him, "It'll be softer. These capsules are designed to get troops down in a fit state to fight." Prophetically the capsule jolted and slowed its descent. "See, it'll get even slower the closer we get." He reached over and shut off the automatic homing beacon as Avon was raising his own hand to do it. "Let's not advertise." He pulled some concentrate paks out of his pockets and passed them around. "Dessert," he smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 7 of 12

As promised, the capsule landing was much gentler than the landings Vila and Avon had during the Andromedan War. No broken arms, burns, or concussions this time. As soon as it settled, Task popped the hatch open and began pulling companions and equipment out as quickly as possible. Then he and Vila shouldered the knapsacks, and they all started walking in the general direction of Blake's base.

They had walked for about half an hour before they had to stop and let Avon rest. Vila hated to see him pushing so hard, but they had to get as far away from the life capsule as possible. Even though they'd disabled the automatic beacon, someone might have seen it come down. Vila's previous experience with Gauda Prime was that anyone who'd seen it come down would probably want to kill him. In fact, in his previous experience, _everyone _had wanted to kill him.

"Can we try the pocket comps now, Avon? Isn't it time to send a pulse to Dayna?" he pleaded. Avon hadn't wanted to use anything with a signal until they were far away from the capsule.

"I guess we're far enough away to risk it." He took his pocket comp out and turned it on. After a few moments, it displayed a map with symbols on it. "Get the others out and let's compare them."

Task and Vila got their comps out and turned them on. When they had the maps, they compared them to Avon's. They matched. Avon pointed at the symbols. "The white circle is the comp. The green circle is the base. These three red dots are other capsules from the ship. The two blue squares are towns. They both serve mines." He indicated the distance scale at the side. "Here's the bad news: I estimate it will take us at least two days to get to the nearest town at our present rate—at _my _present rate," he amended. Task figured it would take longer, but didn't speak.

"Why the town, Avon?" Vila asked.

"Because it would take two _weeks_ for me to get to the base. We'll need transportation."

Vila was thinking of several different arguments at once. He decided to start with the most important one, to him at least. "Do we have to get Orac, Avon? Maybe this is the time to cut our losses and run." He tried not to sound like he was whining.

Unexpectedly, Avon was patient. "Yes, Vila, we have to get Orac. Remember what I said about the Federation using it to hunt us? They could certainly do that. And even if they never found it, we need it more than ever now."

Vila looked puzzled.

"How long did you think we could stay on Horizon, Vila? It's already compromised. The sabotaged guns prove that. Do you want to spend your life tagging along with Avalon's people from base to base, always moving when it gets compromised? How long do you think you'd live? Five years? Two? I'm sorry, Task, but Avalon's current operating philosophy is flawed. It feels good, but it can't work."

"I know, Avon," Task admitted. "And it did feel good, but you're right. I still want to be a part of the Rebellion, but that was my third base with Avalon. I was beginning to lose confidence in the method. Frankly, I never saw any real signs of progress. She'd organize and arm a small group here and there, but there were never enough of them to make a difference. Maybe I should have been thinking in terms of decades, instead of years. Maybe Avalon is, I don't know. But there's little point trying to go back to a base that may not even be there next week. I'll have to find another way to make my contribution."

Avon nodded and turned to Vila. "Your next objection? I know you have at least one more, Vila."

"All right. Why don't we go ahead and signal Dayna now? She'll need to get Jenna to take her off the base and start looking for us. It could take them days to get here."

"I imagine Jenna's already taken Dayna off the base. She was due to arrive the same day we left."

"No, she wasn't. She wasn't expected until today or tomorrow," Vila corrected.

"She was coming in early. They were attacked somewhere along the route. She sent a text message back to the computer at the base using her covert frequency. It read, 'Our backs are scorched. See you in two days.' It was signed, 'Gan.' I imagine by now she's cut ties, at least temporarily, with Avalon and may even be on her way here. And before you say it, I don't want her having to come in here before we get Orac. I want to be well away from that base before we contact her. Better still, I'd rather contact her from a town. She's a freetrader, Vila. She can legitimately land on Gauda Prime and pick up passengers." He smiled. "That's why there are false identity cards in our supplies."

"You never planned to return to Horizon, did you!" Vila accused.

"No, I didn't. I'm sorry, Task. I know that left your needs out of it, but I wasn't really expecting you'd be coming along when I made the plans." Task nodded.

Avon stood. "So now, gentlemen, I suggest we look for a place to spend the night. Some place that doesn't look like a shelter to any remaining bounty hunters. No heat sources at night. Remember, that's how the bounty hunters track their victims.

* * *

Vila woke up stiff and sore. The rocky floor of the cave they'd squeezed into hadn't made a very good mattress, and he was sure his back was permanently damaged. There had been skittering noises during the night, and he had no idea if something lethal had moved in with them. He had concentrated on staying still so he wouldn't antagonise whatever it might be. And he was grateful for the camo suit to wear over his regular clothes during the night. It wasn't very warm on Gauda Prime at night, even with the survival blanket. 

He and Task had taken turns standing watch—crouching watch—during the night. The person on watch would wrap himself in his survival blanket and wedge himself against the small opening to the cave. It helped to keep some heat in the cave, and the blanket shielded body heat from any searchers outside. Vila had no illusions about finding a cave on subsequent nights. This was probably the equivalent of a luxury hotel as far as they were concerned.

Rolling over onto his stomach, Vila propped himself up on his elbows high enough to get a drink from his water bottle, nearly bashing his head against the low ceiling of the cave as he did so. He stoppered the bottle and reached over to where he thought Avon was. He couldn't see Avon in the dark, but he knew about where he should be.

"I'm awake, Vila. You don't have to poke me in the eye to make sure."

"Sorry, Avon. How do you feel?"

"Stiff, cold, sore, and tired."

Task's voice came from the cave opening, "You'll feel better once we get moving. And I suggest we get started soon. It's getting quite light out there. We can eat while we walk." He shifted and let light into the cave. Vila looked around nervously for the skittering visitor, but didn't see anything.

Avon had rolled onto his side and was folding up his blanket as best he could. He gave it to Vila to stuff into a knapsack and took an awkward drink from his water bottle, handing that to Vila too. "Just take that, would you?"

Vila squirmed around so his head was to the cave opening and pushed the knapsack ahead of him. When Task was able to reach inside and pull it out, Vila looked back at Avon. "Do you need us to pull you out, Avon?" They had persuaded Avon to lie with his head pointing towards the opening in case they needed to do that.

"No, I can crawl out." Using mostly his arms, he pulled himself through the low cave and out the opening. Vila and Task pulled him upright.

"How do you feel?" Task asked.

"Surprisingly good." He sounded a little surprised too. He stood flexing and twisting slightly to work out the kinks. Vila and Task already had the knapsacks on and were waiting for him. "Let's go," he said. Reaching into Vila's knapsack, he pulled out some concentrate cube packages and handed them to the others as they walked.

They settled into a routine: half an hour of slow walking, and ten minutes of rest. At midday they would stop and let Avon rest for about an hour and start again. That was the plan, anyway. Gauda Prime undoubtedly had other plans.

Avon had been checking his pocket comp frequently to make sure they were still on course. He stopped suddenly. "We're getting close to a capsule signal. The question is: how far around it should we go?"

Vila asked, "Shouldn't we try to find it? Maybe the others stayed with it. Safety in numbers, you know."

"I doubt there's any safety in these numbers, Vila," Task countered. "I don't have a lot of confidence in any of Wrell's people to handle this situation well, much less any of the ship's crew. I think we're better off on our own." He swung off his knapsack and dropped it on the ground. "Avon, you slide in under the edge of that fallen trunk over there. We'll put one knapsack in with you. Vila, you climb up that tree, and I'll hand you the other knapsack. I'll go take a look and be back here in an hour." He smiled as he tucked the knapsack in beside Avon. "This is your midday rest period, Avon. Make the most of it." He boosted Vila up to a tree branch and passed the other knapsack to him. Then he slipped quietly away through the trees.

* * *

Task approached the capsule cautiously. He hadn't seen any movement or heard anything, but that didn't mean there wasn't a watcher. Hunkering down beside a large trunk he watched and listened for a quarter of an hour. If there was anyone inside, they were asleep. There seemed to be debris on the ground on the other side of the capsule, but he couldn't tell what it was. 

He moved sideways through the trees, skirting the small open area to get a better look at the debris. Not debris, then. Bodies. Three of them beside the remains of a fire. He doubted it was a suicide pact. There was no point in going closer; the capsule would be stripped on anything worthwhile. Carefully he eased back into the trees and made his way back to Avon and Vila.

* * *

Task got Vila out of the tree first. Avon was sound asleep. "Wake up, Avon, we're leaving," Task prodded quietly. 

Avon came awake instantly, hand upraised to strike. "Sorry," he apologised. "Habit." He slid out from under the trunk. "Do we skirt the capsule?"

"Yes, there's nothing there for us. The capsule's stripped and the crew are dead. They'd lit a fire." He pulled Avon upright. "No doubt some former bounty hunters are making a living any way they can now. We may be lucky. It might mean enough order has been restored that they don't dare go near the towns."

"Let's hope so," Avon agreed.

Task and Vila shouldered the knapsacks and they all moved off in the direction of the capsule, planning to give it a wide berth and still have time to find shelter for the night. Once again they followed the routine of half an hour of walking and ten minutes of rest. Avon was able to pick up his pace a little after the noon rest, so they made better time than they had in the morning. They concentrated on keeping as quiet as possible and strained their ears for any sound not out of nature. Encountering a small stream late in the day, they filled their water bottles and quietly discussed the advisability of finding shelter near the stream. Vila wanted to stay near it, but Task was worried it would have the same appeal for hunters, human or otherwise. They hadn't seen anything that looked like game trails but didn't know if that truly indicated the absence of dangerous animals. Avon settled the issue when he stood up and resumed their original heading. Vila and Task shrugged their shoulders at each other and followed.

About an hour later it was clear they wouldn't find any convenient caves for shelter, so they ranged about looking for convenient tree falls instead. They found one big enough for two people and the knapsacks. Vila and Avon wedged themselves under it with the knapsacks and shared one blanket. Task spread the second blanket along the trunk and down to the ground making a sort of lean to, anchoring it with rocks. They hoped it would reduce their heat signatures enough to appear as only a small animal on any scans. Then Task climbed up into a tree and wrapped the third blanket around him, taking the first watch.

* * *

Unusually, Wrell was on his way to talk to Avalon in _her _office, not his. And he was dreading it. Something had gone wrong, and it was his responsibility. They were his people and his plans after all. 

Riece looked a little surprised to see him. Avalon hadn't asked him to contact Wrell. "General Wrell, how can I help you?"

"Would you be so kind as to tell Avalon that I need to see her?"

"Right away." He pressed the intercom button. "Avalon, General Wrell is here to see you," he announced.

_He's got some problem with the base evacuation priorities_, she thought tiredly. "Thank you, Riece. Send him in please."

Wrell palmed the opener and went in.

"Avalon, we've lost contact with the ship," he said simply.

"When?"

"They came under attack as they were entering Gauda Prime airspace. They reported the order to abandon ship, and that was the last we heard."

"So the mission failed before it even started," Avalon stated with resignation.

"Not necessarily. My people probably made planetfall and linked up. They could still go on with their mission. Even if they were split up, they all had the necessary equipment and maps. They'll find the computer. And when they do, we'll send another ship for them."

"And Avon?"

"What about him?"

Avalon regarded him for a moment. "What orders did you give concerning him?"

Wrell realized he'd made a serious error, at least so far as Avalon was concerned. He equivocated, "I gave no specific orders regarding Kerr Avon."

"Semantics, General. What did your people understand to be their priority?"

"The computer, of course."

"They won't be looking for Avon, will they?"

"No."

"I told you that Kerr Avon is of more value to us than Orac."

"With respect, Avalon, you are wrong. That computer can give us information about troop movements, military intelligence—"

Avalon cut him off, "And what did you propose to do with that information, General? Send our fleet of _two_ ships to fight the Federation fleets? Assuming, of course, that the ship you send to rescuethat _machine _isn't destroyed at Gauda Prime too?"

"Any military information we can get—"

"Is of little importance, General. We don't have an army or a fleet to make use of it! Kerr Avon is probably the foremost computer genius in the Known Worlds. He can design secure codes, improved communications, better weapons; he can innovate! A computer cannot." Avalon was furious. "When was the last contact?"

"Yesterday, not quite twenty-four hours ago."

"That long ago?" Outrage showed on Avalon's face. "You knew this when I was telling you about the evacuation, and you said _nothing?_"

After a lengthy silence, he ventured, "What do you want me to do, Avalon?"

"Nothing. There's nothing we can do right now. We're going to wait as long as we can and see if Avon may have survived. Then I'll decide what to do."

Wrell waited a few moments. When Avalon refused to look at him, he left quietly.

* * *

"Carnell, we've lost contact with the Gauda Prime mission," Avalon said. 

"Are you surprised?" he asked.

"I guess not, no. The ship was apparently destroyed when it entered Gauda Prime airspace."

"Of course it was. When your people went in before, how did they do it?"

Avalon stared at him and answered slowly, "As passengers on commercial ships."

"And how did they bring out Kerr Avon's group?"

"On a merchant ship," she answered, disgusted at having missed the importance of that distinction. "Anything not a commercial ship had no chance, did it?"

"Not with disabled weapons, and that has to be why the dockworkers were killed. Avalon, it's a wide open planet trying to reform itself. Only Federation ships and commercial ships are welcome there."

"Why did Wrell send in a military ship?"

"Wrell is no more than a barely competent officer. He rose through the ranks in posts that were chiefly administrative, and he only survived as long as he did because he was oblivious to the constant scheming and plotting endemic in the Federation military. And I would know: I generated much of it. But he wasn't bright enough to notice what was happening around him. The only field commands he ever had were over supply lines. When it became apparent to him that he was not particularly useful to Command anymore, he sought to join the Rebellion. He probably believed he had a great destiny to fulfill."

"And how do I get Kerr Avon back?"

"Even if he survives a second experience with Gauda Prime, you shouldn't count on seeing him again. I told you he's not a rebel. He may continue to provide assistance from time to time, but you'll never control him. He may work _with _you, but he'll never work _for _you. I imagine he's already arranged his own salvation. Jenna Stannis is probably on her way to Gauda Prime right now."

"I've lost her too then."

"And Tarrant and Mellanby," he added.

Avalon looked startled for a moment. Then her eyes narrowed. "You're right. I haven't seen Dayna since before Jenna Stannis left." She sighed, "Well, I guess it's time to cut my losses there."

Carnell leaned forward on his desk, "The part I really regret is that I had so looked forward to talking with Avon. I'm sure he could provide a great deal of insight about Servalan," Carnell finished.

* * *

"His Supreme Highness Ro will see you now, Madame. Please enter." The courtier swung open the wide door to the audience chamber. Avalon walked the length of the room briskly. 

Ro stepped down from the dais, smiling. "Avalon, a pleasure. How can we help you today?"

"I'm afraid that's exactly why I'm here, Your Highness. I need help," Avalon responded.

"It's something serious then. What has happened?" He indicated a low bench near the throne.

Seating herself, Avalon began, "Something happened on the base that leads me to believe it's compromised. My people are going to have to leave."

"You're certain?"

"I'm afraid so. We don't know exactly when it may have happened, but we found the evidence today. We're making preparations for leaving as we speak."

"I see. We had hoped Horizon could be a permanent base for the Rebellion, Avalon. Your people have been very helpful in training Silmarenoans to fly our confiscated Federation ships, but they are not yet fully trained."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I'm not asking for the use of your ships, Your Highness. And I will ask my people if any of them are willing to stay and continue your pilots' training. But I do need to ask your help in another way."

"If we can grant that, we shall. What is the help you need?"

"We have only two ships—"

"We had thought there were three."

Avalon explained, "There were. We believe one has been lost on a mission. We've had not communication with it for two days. It's possible the mission was compromised as well as the base. And if that is the case, there could already be ships on their way to Horizon to destroy the base."

"But surely the barrier will keep them out?"

"Not if they know to degauss their hulls before passing through the shield. We have tried to keep that a secret, but you know how fleeting secrets are, Your Highness."

"You cannot evacuate all your people with only two ships. You will have to leave some people here until you can come back for them."

"Yes, Your Highness. That is the help I'm asking. I would like permission to leave some of them elsewhere on Horizon until we can make arrangements for them. I can't leave them on the base; that is the first place that would suffer attack. And I can't leave them in your cities, for the safety of your subjects. But there are uninhabited areas where they could wait temporarily, with your permission."

Ro considered the problem for a few moments. "Of course you may leave some of your people here. But I wonder, could you persuade any of the merchant ships you have contact with to transport your people?"

"I may be able to persuade some, but they need to make their livings transporting cargo for money. And I have little to spare."

"Go ahead and make arrangements for some of your people to stay on Horizon temporarily. When you can make contact with the merchant ships, tell them they can take on some monopasium cargos in addition to your people. That will pay for their journeys."

Avalon's spirits began to lift a little. "That is very generous, Your Highness."

"We have made it clear to the Federation that they are not welcome here, and we wish to remain allied with others of like mind. It is an alliance that can do all of us only good. We will not ask where you intend to move your people, but perhaps they will be able to return here someday, Avalon."

"I hope so, Your Highness."

Ro stood, signalling an end to the interview. "My chamberlain will make arrangements for monopasium cargoes and accommodations for any of your pilots willing to remain for training. Please let him know if he can help you further. We look forward to another time when we can be neighbours again, Avalon."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

* * *

It was shortly before sunrise, Vila's watch, that he heard the speeder. It sounded like it was slowing to a stop nearby. As quietly as possible, he climbed down from the tree and crept over to where Task and Avon lay hidden under a fallen trunk. 

"Task," he breathed.

"We heard," a whispered reply. Task crawled out from under the survival blanket almost noiselessly. He retrieved his gun and leaned close to Vila's ear. "We're going to get that speeder."

Vila's eyes opened wide in silent alarm. By now they could hear low voices approaching them. Task quickly slung the strap of his gun over his shoulder and boosted Vila up into the tree. Then he took cover behind another fallen trunk.

The voices came closer. The higher voice was saying, "It's still showing a heat source about a quarter of a kilometre in front of us."

The deeper voice answered, "And I say the lousy thing's faulty. No-one would be out here; no-one ever farmed around here."

High Voice argued, "Well, it's worth checking. Anyone we find out here is profit. If they haven't got a bounty, we can sell them to the slavers on Domo. And if they're not worth sending to Domo, we shoot them. End of story. Now get quiet."

Slavers! If Vila had felt unhappy about shooting someone before, he had no quarrel with it now. He raised his gun carefully and tracked the nearest man as he came into view. Incredibly, the slavers kept going, right past Avon's hiding place, still looking at their scanner. Last chance. Vila pulled the trigger almost simultaneously with Task.

Task's target went down immediately, but Vila's was only wounded. A third shot, from Avon's hiding place, finished him. Vila jumped out of the tree and ran to Avon. "Are you all right in there?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Really, Vila, you're going to have to practice," Avon answered, disgusted.

"You know I don't like guns, Avon."

"That's why you need to practice."

Task was emptying the men's pockets. Vila pulled Avon out from under the trunk, and they went to sift through the contents. There wasn't anything useful to them, but Vila spotted the handheld scanner. He stamped on it, crushing it. "Lousy thing _was _faulty, wasn't it?" he pronounced angrily. Then he went back to Avon's shelter and pulled out the knapsacks. "Well, come on, let's get on with it," he snapped and began walking to where he'd heard the speeder land.

Task picked up his knapsack and the blankets and commented to Avon, "I guess he really doesn't like guns, does he?"

"He likes knives even less."

They followed Vila to the speeder. He already had the hatch unlocked and was searching inside. "I didn't see anything that looked like a transmitter, but you'd better make sure, Avon." He began throwing dirty bits of blankets, empty food containers, and other debris out of the open hatch.

Avon pulled out one of the pocket comps and fiddled with the buttons. "No transmissions." He pocketed the comp and bent to look under the control panel. Pulling out a component, he explained, "But this would have begun transmitting as soon as we started up." He dropped it on the ground and crushed it.

"Come on back here, Avon." Vila had found a not-too-filthy sleeping pad and spread it in the back. He put one of the survival blankets over it out of deference to Avon's sensitivities. "Get some more rest while we decide what to do next." He moved aside for Avon and took the knapsacks from Task as he handed them in.

Task got in and shut the hatch. Taking some concentrates out of a knapsack he passed them around and asked, "Do you still want to make for that town, Avon, or miss it since we've got a speeder now?"

Vila offered his opinion, "Let's go to the town, Avon. I want a bath and some decent food. A bed might be in order too."

Paying no attention to Vila, Avon began reasoning out loud, "It's a mining town, so it's likely to be pretty rough—"

"On second thought, let's skip the town, Avon," Vila begged.

"—which means we probably wouldn't draw as much attention as elsewhere. I can change the identity codes on this speeder so we wouldn't likely get caught if it's stolen, which it almost certainly was at some time. We could all do with some decent rest and food, and some of us could certainly do with a bath," he directed at Vila.

"I'm for the town," Task agreed. "Besides the amenities, we could pick up some extra supplies and equipment. Since you want us to get to a town before contacting Jenna Stannis, Avon, we should have a look around and see if this would be a good place to wait for pickup."

"That's what we'll do then," Avon decided. "We'll stop near the town and observe it first. If it looks safe to go in, we'll go. One of us should stay hidden in the speeder while the other two arrange accommodations. That will be you, Vila. They're not likely to offer a room for three, and we don't want to be split up. That will be an advantage. Anyone looking to rob two people will be surprised to find a third. After we've got a room arranged, we can slip you inside. One of us can stay in the room, and the other two can hunt up some extra supplies or pick up information."

Task took the operator's seat and Vila sat beside him, holding a pocket comp with the map displayed on it. Avon lay in the back. Task kept the speeder below the treetops, and Vila soon learned to keep his eyes straight ahead or fixed on the pocket comp. The trees whizzing by beside him were making him distinctly queasy, as if just being on Gauda Prime wasn't enough.

When they judged they were a kilometre away from the town, Task and Vila left Avon tinkering with the speeder's identity codes while they approached the town on foot, keeping in cover as much as possible. They found a good place to watch a main thoroughfare and observed for nearly an hour.

Both ground effect vehicles and speeders were common, and there wasn't anyone stopping and checking them. Traffic seemed to be picking up as the day turned into late afternoon, and vehicles often had three or more people in them. They looked like mine workers either living in the town or going there for entertainment. There was very little foot traffic going in and none going out. They didn't see any Federation troops, and the local constabulary were wearing uniforms and were easy to pick out. The town had once been walled, but the wall was in disrepair in several places. No-one seemed to be watching those areas, so Vila judged it would be easy to slip in or out through the wall under cover of darkness if need be.

They made their way back to the speeder and were surprised by Avon stepping out from behind a tree, carrying one of the guns.

"Trouble?" Vila asked nervously, looking around.

"No trouble. I just didn't want to be caught unaware. What did you see?"

Task reported, "We can get in easily. No-one seems to care who goes in or out. Other speeders looked much like this one, so we shouldn't draw attention that way. We'll look like mine personnel. The town is large enough that we can stay in the speeder while we scout out accommodations and not be noticed. I suggest you hide in the speeder while Vila and I arrange the accommodations." He smiled, "Your head-to-toe black is great for the 'Avenger of Gauda Prime,' but would be more noticeable than our clothes. Once we're in town, Vila and I will get you some different clothes, something nondescript. We'll hide the camo suits in the knapsacks. If you like, once we've got the clothes, Vila or I can find a local tavern and listen to the local chat."

"It will be you. Vila would drink the town dry and forget to listen."

"Oh, now wait, Avon. You know I wouldn't do that," Vila protested.

Avon looked at him purposefully and said two words: "Space City." He started pulling off his camo suit, and the others followed. Getting in the back of the speeder, he pulled a blanket over himself, just in case someone got close enough to look in. "The hatch code is now seven five. Wait a moment, and enter it a second time. If you enter the wrong code or try to bypass the system, it'll give you a shock that will stun you," he told them.

They entered the town largely unnoticed and spent some time locating eating establishments, taverns, and merchants. They stayed away from the more solid-looking area of town, where families were living in better constructed buildings and would be more inclined to notice strangers. By now it was nearly dark, so they scouted the local hotels and found one whose customers weren't too rough looking.

Leaving the speeder locked in front, Task arranged a double room, paying for it with a credit chit and using one of Avon's false identity cards. Vila wandered around the lobby, noting the exits and the dining facilities. He spent some time looking at the evacuation floor plan. Task asked for a room on the first floor at the back, citing traffic noise. The desk clerk didn't note anything unusual about their using knapsacks for baggage. Indeed, the desk clerk hardly seemed to notice them at all, which suited Vila. He handed them two card keys and tiredly listed the amenities available. It was a short list.

Task turned to Vila and suggested, "Why don't you move the speeder around to the parking area at the back? I'll take our things up to the room." He easily hoisted both knapsacks and started for the lifts.

Vila went out and keyed open the hatch on the speeder. "We got a room on the first floor at the back," he told Avon. "I'll park the speeder in the back and take you up the evac stairs then come down and cross the lobby to the lifts so I'll be seen. It's room 106, and Task will be waiting to let you in."

He guided the speeder to the back of the building and hesitated as though he was looking for a convenient parking slip. He watched the security cam focussed on the guests' vehicles. When it swung away, he opened the hatch and instructed, "Get into that shadow near the door."

Avon glided into the shadow and pressed up against the wall. Vila chose a slip for the speeder and strolled towards the guest entrance, the picture of innocence. He timed his walk so the camera had swung away again when he reached the door, and Avon joined him. Vila checked quickly through the transparent door, inserted his key card, and swung it open, pointing at the door to the evac stairs. It took him all of five seconds to open the lock, and they slipped through.

Once on the stairs, they were fairly safe. People were lazy. Why use stairs when there was a lift? The only reason the door on the ground floor was locked was so the guests couldn't slip extra amenities into their rooms without management getting a cut. As they reached the first floor door, that theory was illustrated. They heard giggling in the corridor and waited until they heard a door open and close, cutting off the giggling.

The door to room 106 was cracked, and Avon walked briskly and quietly to it. Task let him in and closed it again. Vila hurried back down the stairs, listened at the stairway door, and slipped through. Waiting at the lift was a tired looking woman in shabby, cheap finery. She barely glanced at Vila as they rode up together.

Task and Avon had been busy examining the room. They found no cameras, and they hadn't expected to. There was nothing worth stealing that cost as much as a camera would. The beds were bolted to the floor, as was the dresser. Too bad; they wouldn't be able to push it across the door if they got nervous. The bed linens were disposable, as were the towels in the tiny washroom. Good; maid service was unlikely. The chair wasn't bolted down, and they could put that in front of the door. Fortunately the chair was fairly heavy. Management didn't want it thrown through a window too easily.

Avon had examined the visbox. It was of the cheapest variety, so it wouldn't support any optical pickups. It also wasn't rigged to record what the guests were watching and when. Apparently viscast service was free, as was advertised on the channel listing plastiqued to the top of the box. He picked up the remote control and sat on the foot of the bed nearest to the visbox and started clicking through the channels. Almost none of them matched the channel listing.

Task sat on the other bed. "There's no place to hide in here, so if you want us to stay here very long, I suggest we get you back outside and let you check in, once we've gotten you some local attire. Then you would be more free to move around. I think we should still stay together in one room for safety. We can rob the towels and soap from the other room."

Avon considered, "All right. You and Vila get us some clothes, and Vila can put the camo suits through the autovalet when you get back." In answer to their questioning looks, "We'll be needing to wear them again soon enough. They might as well be clean." They left him reclining on the bed, clicking through viscasts.

* * *

The town was more civilised than Vila expected. Of course he hadn't been to a town when he was there before, just in the woods, nearly being killed by bounty hunters, or on Blake's base, nearly being killed by Federation troopers and rebels alike. 

But he was comforted by seeing a few groundcabs about and even some public transportation. Occasionally the streets ran round small open squares with trees and benches where people could sit and watch their children playing. Vila wanted to stop and watch the children, but Task hurried him along. There were a variety of shops and even a large store that appeared to carry everything the self-respecting citizen could need for the home. He saw tiny cafes and restaurants much nicer than his apparel would permit. To his disgust, Task wouldn't let him go in any of the numerous taverns.

They found a resale store and quickly chose some slightly flash, night-on-the-town jackets and vests of the sort they'd seen the taverns' patrons wearing. Then they picked out a nondescript shirt, jacket, and trousers for Avon. They stopped at another store and got socks and underwear. A third stop got them a cheap, thin duffel for Avon, which they folded tightly, stuffing all their purchases into two shopping bags. Vila couldn't resist lifting three pairs of eyeshades—as if the sun often shone brightly enough on Gauda Prime to need them—and Task didn't make him put them back for fear of being caught. They hurried back to the hotel and past the unseeing clerk—a different one this time—and into the lift.

When they entered the room, Avon quickly switched off the viscast he'd been watching with the sound off, and started emptying the bags. He pulled out the "ordinary" clothes they bought for him and started shedding his own. "Give me five minutes to check in, and then go down to the dining room. Make sure you get a table big enough for all of us. I'll come down and 'happen' to see you. We work together at the mines. That way hotel personnel won't think it strange if they see any of us together." He paused to look dubiously at the tasteless vest.

Unnoticed by Avon and Task, Vila flicked the visbox on and off quickly, noting the channel setting. Then he checked the listing on the top of the box. Uh-huh. Of course, the listing _could_ be wrong . . .

As he pulled his trouser legs down over his boots, Avon continued, "We'll decide to go out on the town together, then you'll get me up the stairs and into the room, Vila. I don't want to leave our gear unguarded. From what I've been able to pick up from viscasts, we may have to stay in town for a while tomorrow if we're to continue to look like mining personnel." He stuffed his "Avenger" clothes into the cheap duffel and said, "Let's go."

* * *

Vila rose slightly from his chair and motioned at Avon, who was looking around the tiny dining room. Avon joined him and Task at the table and looked at the stained menu card with disgust. "Does someone come and take the food order?" 

Task put down his coffee, "No, you punch it in over there and wait a few moments. It'll come out on a tray from there," he pointed. "I can't recommend the stew. It hasn't got any identifiable meat in it."

Avon replaced the menu card in its stand on the table and went over to the order machine. In a few moments, the delivery slot signalled. He wrinkled his nose slightly as he inspected his order for errors. Not that he would have been able to tell: everything was wrapped in tissue displaying the legend "Fine Food," and "Tastes Well Brands." Placing his tray on the table, he glanced at the other customers. They all seemed delighted with their choices. _They must have really bad food at the mine dormitories_, he thought. He unwrapped his purchases and pretended to enjoy them. Vila was certainly enjoying his, he noted.

Keeping his voice down, he asked, "Vila, can you fix that stairwell door so our key cards will open it?"

"Already done. And there's a side entrance for guests that will be less noticeable than the one from the parking area. You can use the service corridor to get to the stairs. It goes past service rooms and stays out of sight of the lobby. Any personnel using that area are undoubtedly well practised in ignoring guests. The security camera is frozen pointing to one side, so you can get in without being seen."

"In your travels, did you see anyplace selling food concentrates?"

"No, why?"

"I think we should take advantage of civilisation to increase our supply of concentrates."

"How can you use 'civilisation 'and 'concentrates' in the same sentence?"

Ignoring Vila, Avon asked, "Task, can you think of anything you'd like to add to our supplies?"

"Just some more purification tablets. We've probably got plenty, but we don't really know how long we'll be out there. If possible, I'd like to get a one-man shelter. It'll accommodate two in a pinch and shield their body heat. It'll also allow us to use a small, smokeless heat source."

Avon put down the remains of his "chicken" sandwich. Vila asked quickly, "Are you going to eat the rest of that?"

"No, be my guest."

Task collected his tray and took it to the disposal slot. Avon did the same. He waited impatiently for Vila to gulp down the remains of his food and follow.

Stepping out into the street, they paused briefly to watch the passersby. No-one appeared interested in them, so they walked along the front of the hotel to the end with the side door for guests. Avon ducked along the side and inserted his card in the slot. He entered with a confident walk, but didn't encounter anyone else.

Back in the "common" room, he reclined on the bed and turned on the visbox.

* * *

"Two more Terran ales, please," Vila held out the credit chit. He collected the flagons and took them back to the table, setting one in front of Task. "Learn anything useful?" 

Task was straining to hear the visbox hanging over the bar. It appeared to be a newscast. "Only that the government authorities have been arresting undesirables in fairly large numbers, at least around the towns. I take it the undesirables are bounty hunters. They probably pick them up when they enter towns for supplies. It may not be safe for us to try and buy more supplies—it could mark us as potential 'undesirables'."

"I wasn't really looking forward to concentrates anyway. We'll have to get some other packaged foods. We've got transportation now, so the weight shouldn't matter. Still, I was looking forward to that shelter."

"We may be able to get it. We'll have to wait and see. The smokeless heat source will be easy. People use those in their homes all the time. As you said, we'll have transportation, so we can buy bottled status water instead of using up the purification tablets."

They sipped their drinks in silence, listening to the conversation around them. A flashily dressed young woman was smiling at Vila. She lifted her eyebrows slightly. Vila nodded towards Task. The woman looked bored and turned away.

"You know, this would be fun if we weren't working," Vila grumbled.

* * *

They returned to the room around midnight. Avon turned off the visbox and sat up. "Did you find out anything useful?" 

"Not really," Vila replied, picking up the visbox control and turning it on. He watched for a moment. "I didn't know you could do _that_."

Avon swiped the control from his hand and turned it off. "I'll go out and 'return' to the hotel now. I'll go to the other room first, muss it up a little, get the towels, and come back here. Then we can work out what to do tomorrow."

Task was listening to a local newscast when Avon returned. He turned off the visbox and said, "It looks like we _are_ going to need to stay in town all day tomorrow if we're to look like genuine mine personnel. Apparently they carouse for two nights, catch about three hours sleep, and then head back to the mine in the wee hours of the morning, just in time to go on shift. The gods only know how accident ridden that first shift must be."

"First shift and last shift of any work period are always the most accident prone," Avon answered, handing the extra towels and soap to Vila. "Just put that in the washroom, would you?" He waited for Vila to join them. "We can spend the day tomorrow adding to our supplies and sleeping. Then we can have our night out and get a couple more hours of sleep before we have to leave. If we join the string of speeders headed back to the mine, we should be able to find a spot where we can leave the line and head out into the woods for a while. Maybe later we can get back to the road, assuming there is one, and go to the town near Blake's base. If we can stick near the road, we'll probably be safer. Local law enforcement may be patrolling it now that Gauda Prime is rounding up the bounty hunters."

"Sounds good to me," Task agreed. He held up the visbox remote. "Who's on watch first?"

Vila snatched the remote. "I'll go first," he offered and dragged the chair over in front of the visbox. Task and Avon stretched out on the beds, and Avon reached toward the light switch.

As Vila flicked the visbox on, Avon said, "They're showing the same one over and over. It only lasts about forty minutes." He turned off the light.


	8. Chapter 8

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 8 of 12

"The first ship's away, Avalon."

"Thank you, Riece. Is the second still on schedule?"

"On schedule."

"Thank you."

Avalon turned to Carnell, "Are you going on the second ship, or are you staying with Ro?"

"Going with you, of course. I'm surprised you asked," Carnell smiled ingratiatingly.

"Don't be. I know you approached Ro. You'd be a fool not to, and I don't see you as a fool, Carnell." Avalon leaned back in her chair and studied him. "I don't see you as a rebel either. Why stay with the Rebellion?"

"It suits me."

Avalon waited.

Carnell sighed, "Because you have something I want: access to people who can help me destroy Servalan."

"Why do _you_ want to destroy her?"

"My reasons will have to remain my own. Isn't it enough that we can help each other get what we want?"

"For now," Avalon answered.

"Well then, I'd better finish getting ready to leave. I'll see you on the ship." Carnell gave her a slightly mocking bow and left.

Reluctantly Avalon set aside her speculations about Carnell's motives and turned back to the evacuation plans. The first ship was on its way to Albion, where, like Horizon, the population as a whole was anti-Federation. Avalon's people wouldn't have to fight their way down to the surface and hide from the enemy. The Albions had offered them the deserted Federation base, and the Federation had lost interest in Albion after the War. The rebels would be relatively safe for a time.

On the first ship were people who would assess the facilities and organize accommodation for those coming later. They were carrying supplies and equipment to get the base back into operation quickly, and the Albions had promised fuel to send the ship back to Horizon for subsequent evacuation flights. Those flights would bring more rebels, their families, and supplies, including fuel of their own. Avalon didn't want to presume _too _much on Albion's generosity.

Fortunately Albion was becoming a prosperous planet now that the Federation was no longer using her people as unwilling labourers and robbing her of her resources. A people who are allowed ownership of their resources cease to be slaves and instead become willing workers. And now those resources were buying them their own fleet and planetary defences. The Federation would find it difficult to take back the planet if they ever recovered their own resources enough to try.

Albion was an old, established colony. The camp followers/merchants from Horizon would be unlikely to follow the rebels to Albion. They couldn't compete with merchants who were already well established. Avalon was relieved at that; she'd never quite trusted the motley collection of vendors and hustlers that had congregated outside the base on Horizon.

So Avalon was pleased with the advantages Albion could offer as a rebel stronghold, and Albion welcomed an opportunity to humiliate the Federation. As far as both parties were concerned, this was nearly perfect. Only one thing could have made it better—if Kerr Avon had returned with Avalon. The Albions knew that every living creature on their planet had been moments away from a hellish death when Avon defused the solium bomb the Feds had left behind. He was their hero. It was a pity they didn't know him well enough to know he didn't want to be their hero. It wasn't just modesty—or in Avon's case, _false_ modesty—he really _didn't _want to be their hero.

* * *

"Lissa, why don't you go ahead and stand down? I'll take communications now," Jenna offered when she entered the flightdeck. 

"Thanks, Captain," Lissa smiled her appreciation and began transferring basic functions to the flight console. "Everything's been routine for this area, and that pulse code on our covert frequency—" she nodded towards the ship's computer, "is still coming in at regular intervals. Arne set it up to sound a klaxon if it changes."

"Thank you, Lissa. I saw Arne in the galley if you want to catch him there."

As Lissa hurried out the door, Jenna turned to Tarrant, "Dayna said she told you a little about Blake."

"Yes, not much though," he confirmed. "I take it he was working for the Federation?"

"Towards the end, certainly. In the beginning, he was probably unaware of any actions he may have taken against the Rebellion—or us. It seems the Federation conditioning left him struggling with two incompatible goals. On the one hand, he sincerely _was _a rebel, working to destroy the government. But lurking behind that was a person who was completely loyal to the government and working to destroy the Rebellion. At first he probably did no more than subconsciously sabotage himself, set up impossible conditions for himself, things like that.

"As time went on, he was more aggressive in his activities, though he was probably unaware of that. Carnell—did you meet Carnell at the base? He's a psychostrategist working for Avalon. He believes Blake began tipping off the Feds whenever we'd have contact with a rebel group, giving away their locations or plans. Putting the pieces together, it looks like too much of a coincidence that the Feds would find the various groups immediately after we were in contact with them.

"Putting my own pieces together, I've been turning events over in my mind and finding time after time when the _Liberator _came under attack by 'lucky' Federation task forces that just happened to be in an area we would be transiting. Did that sort of thing ever happen when you were on the _Liberator_?"

Tarrant thought about that for a few moments. "No, we were never attacked by any forces that just happened to find us. We suffered some attacks into which we'd been lured by Servalan though. And most of those were because . . ." Comprehension dawned, and he finished, "because Avon was following rumours of Blake. I thought Servalan had simply gotten more clever and subtle in her methods."

"Oh, no, Servalan was never clever or subtle—but Blake was. And Blake either personally infiltrated several rebel groups or helped Servalan insert agents into those groups. Whenever Avon contacted them with assistance—"

"Avon didn't assist any rebel groups. He has no use for the Rebellion," Tarrant objected.

"Avon has never been a rebel, Tarrant, but he's always been a sympathizer. I imagine if you had checked the contents of the strongroom on the _Liberator _occasionally, you would have found the contents dwindling. Avon gave vast sums to various rebel groups for support."

"But he had no right," Tarrant said indignantly. "That money belonged to all of us."

"No, it belonged to Avon, Cally, Vila, and me. Cally would have given all of it, at any time, to any rebel group. She was the only real rebel on that ship. I imagine Avon had to exercise considerable control over her to prevent her expending it all at one time. Her zeal often impaired her judgement.

"And you know Vila. He's a soft touch. He probably passed the major portion of his share on to surviving partners and children of rebels. I imagine in the end the only wealth left on the _Liberator _was my share and some of Blake's, the part he couldn't get in the life capsule. I only figured out later why he had been so reluctant to abandon the _Liberator_: he'd been loading valuables from the strong room into a capsule and wanted to go back for more."

Tarrant was thinking furiously. "What about at Terminal? Was Blake really there?"

"Carnell doesn't think so. But he thinks Blake willingly connived with Servalan to convince Avon he was there. From what Vila told me, I think maybe he _was _there."

"And afterwards? When we spent all our time hiding and limping around in that wreck _Scorpio_?"

"Avon was helping rebels then too. Not with funds; he didn't have any. But with other types of help, locating contacts for them, designing more secure communications codes, activities like that. And he was still looking for Blake."

"And that nearly trapped him in the end," Tarrant said with finality.

"He wouldn't have escaped that trap if Avalon's people hadn't already infiltrated Blake's phony base on Gauda Prime. None of you would have escaped."

"I guess we owe our lives to Avalon."

"Yes, but consider her purpose. She didn't infiltrate that base to save your lives. She did it to stop Blake. And she took all of you to safety because you could have been great assets to her. In her own way, she's just as impersonal as Blake ever was. The difference is that she's less willing to risk people's lives without their permission—so far."

* * *

"Try it now, Dayna," Dase directed. 

"All right." Dayna put down her probe and settled into the gunner's chair. With her left hand she reached across her lap to the right side of the chair and pulled the retractable restraint belt across her lap.

"Try not to look down when you fasten it," Dase said quickly.

Dayna kept her eyes up and brought the magnetic fastener down to her left side. When she got it close to its dock, it pulled itself into place with a snap. "That's much better, Dase," she smiled. "It nearly pulled itself out of my hand to fasten."

Watching the fastener, she released it and experimented with how distant from the dock it could be and still find its way. "I think this will probably be right for Tarrant, too, but we'll need to get him to test it."

"If he says it's good, I'll retrofit all the seats. This would be an improvement for everyone, not just Tarrant." She dropped her tools back into their bag. "I don't know why he didn't end up smeared all over the walls when Cap did that end-for-end back at Xaranar. None of us had thought about how a one-armed person couldn't fasten the restraint." She indicated Dayna's work. "Nor how a one-armed person couldn't grip the gun and change the scatter width at the same time. At least we thought to lock open some of the doors so Tarrant wouldn't get there carrying something and not be able to palm the opener."

Dayna picked up her probe again and started working on the gun. "Well, when he gets a prosthesis, he should be able to do everything the same way he did before." When she didn't get an answer, she turned to Dase and asked, "Shouldn't he?"

Dase looked sober. "Dayna, don't count on a prosthesis making everything the same again for Tarrant. In fact, count on it _not _being the same again—ever."

"What do you mean?"

"I know Tarrant acts like he's okay with losing his arm, and he probably thinks he is, for now. But that won't last, Dayna. He's just going on momentum now. Once things slow down and stay slow for a while, he'll start resenting what's happened to him. He was probably pretty depressed for a while, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but he's over it now."

"No, he's not, Dayna. Not really. He's fooling himself. You don't get over something that drastic so soon. Even with a prosthesis, you don't. Sure, it will enable him to do most things he might normally do, but not _all_. It won't _be _his arm, Dayna. It won't _feel _like his arm. It won't _look _like his arm.

"Pretty soon he's going to start worrying about how a potential partner will react to him because he's missing an arm. He can't _not _think about it," Dase said.

Dayna looked thoughtful. "But surely anyone worthwhile wouldn't care. I mean, if you love someone, you don't care. Lauren and I didn't care that Father was blind."

"He was your father. You always loved him. But what if he had met someone new, a possible companion? Your father was mature and confident enough not to be concerned about reactions to his disability, but Tarrant's not. He's young, and this is a new experience."

"We're his friends. We'll be there for him," Dayna declared.

"Of course we will. But we're not the whole galaxy. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't be surprised or angry when his depression returns from time to time—and it will. You'll have to be patient. He's worth it, isn't he?"

"There were times when Avon would have said he wasn't worth anything," Dayna recalled.

"They didn't get along?"

"Horrors, no. Both of them were determined to be King of the Mountain. There wasn't a day that went by without those two butting heads," Dayna laughed.

"What's Avon like?" Dase asked, sitting down on her toolbag.

"A bundle of contradictions. Every time you think you've figured him out, he contradicts your theory. He talks to Vila like he's the most worthless being in the galaxy, then he leaps to his defence—not in front of Vila, of course, not often anyway. But Vila trusts him. That's why he's always willing to side with Avon when it's something really important. I remember once when Vila almost left us. He'd met a girl he liked, and Tarrant had been bullying him—"

"Tarrant? Bullying someone?" Dase was surprised.

"He used to bully Vila, and he tried to bully everyone else too. Tarrant was a real pain when he first joined us. And he was so nasty to Vila that he nearly left us; perhaps we didn't really understand Vila then. We made fun of him when he'd talk about meeting a nice girl and having a family."

"And then he met someone."

"Yes, and he almost stayed behind with her. When he introduced her to us, Avon was looking at her with benevolence, or what passes for benevolence on Avon's face. I think he was happy for Vila. Of course, I could be wrong. All of Avon's expressions look pretty much the same—smug or disapproving," Dayna pondered. "Except when he smiles, which isn't often."

"At least he smiles, then. That's good."

"Oh no, that's when you _really_ have to watch out. When Avon smiles, it usually means disaster for someone. What Avon says and what he does are very different things."

"But you like him."

"Oh yes. Even Tarrant likes him, I think. When you get right down to it, Avon's really a sensitive, understanding person."

* * *

Avon was wearing his most forbidding expression. "One last thing before you leave, Vila: DO NOT STEAL ANYTHING. You both have plenty of credit chits. I don't want to have to break you out of the local jail," Avon instructed. 

"You know I wouldn't get caught, Avon," Vila insisted.

"Remind me: why were you on that prison ship?"

"That's not the same thing at all!" he protested. "I only got caught because one of my false identities unravelled."

"Well, you're using a false identity now, aren't you? I mean this, Vila. If you get caught, I'll leave you here," Avon finished. "Watch him, Task. If something goes wrong, run."

Task took firm hold of Vila's arm and guided him to the door ahead of him. "We'll be fine, Avon. I'll keep an eye on him. We'll meet you back here for lunch so we can unload our purchases. If you think of anything else we should get, you can let us know then. Let's go, Vila." He pushed Vila through the door and to the lift.

Avon muttered, "Unload their purchases. We'll probably have to unload Vila's pockets too."

He picked up the visbox remote, settled on the bed, and began looking for local interest channels. That's how Task had learned about the mine workers spending two days in town and returning to the mine only in time for the first shift.

The first channel he settled on seemed to be showing some sort of drama. There were never more than two or three actors together in a scene, and they were always discussing someone's perfidy or sudden drastic illness. People seemed to be in comas a lot or getting pregnant. And they all seemed to have names like "Harley", "Brady", or "Hayes"—and those were the females. It didn't take long to determine that all the breaks between scenes contained advertising for household products. They weren't any thirty second news updates. Apparently typical viewers were housebound and preferred to be.

The next channel was better; it was showing old visplays. And while there were still the occasional advertisements for household products—spiced up with schemes for learning a new trade at home in your spare time or suing your employer for work-related injuries—there were also quick news briefs containing items of local interest.

* * *

"Let me see the list again," Vila said. "Concentrate cubes—can't find those. Purification tablets—lucky thing some of the locals are concerned about their water supplies. Smokeless heat source—bless those home party-givers. Tent—nothing smaller than a four-man tent in bright red. Survival blankets—strange they don't have those. What if their speeders break down and they have to wait for a mechanic?" He handed the list back to Task. 

Task skimmed the list. "You wait outside while I get some bottled water. Then we'll put this stuff in the room and have lunch. Avon may have thought of something else,"

They met in front of the store ten minutes later and started back to the hotel. As they walked, Task asked, "What's so special about this computer we've got to get?"

"In my opinion, nothing. He was never anything but trouble, but Avon dotes on him. Orac—short for Oracle, I guess—can remotely access any other computer containing tarriel cells. Avon used him to access Federation computers all the time." Vila explained.

"Sounds pretty useful to me."

"I guess he could be, but he caused us a lot of grief. Orac has a mind of his own, so you can't count on him telling you everything when you ask him a question. He gets all huffy and insulted, and then he twists what he reports so you'll go haring off in the wrong direction. Avon says if the Feds get Orac, they can use him to hunt us. That's why we've got to find him or destroy him. Trust me, when push comes to shove, Avon won't destroy Orac. Avon's greed always gets the better of him."

"If the Feds could use Orac to hunt us, I guess we'll have to find him first, won't we? How big is he? Will we have trouble getting him away from the base?"

Vila's hands were full, so he estimated, "About fifty by thirty by twenty centimetres. Orac's not too heavy, but he's awkward to carry."

"Maybe we'd better look for a bag to carry him in. Would he fit in one of the knapsacks?"

"I don't think so. I think it would be the wrong shape. You're right, we'd better look for a bag after lunch." Vila's face brightened. "That's one on Avon: _he _didn't think of a bag."

When they reached the hotel, Avon was getting impatient, "What took you so long? I thought you'd been caught stealing."

"Of course not. I'm too good for that," Vila answered, dumping his purchases on the bed. He looked at the remote in Avon's hand. "What have _you _been up to? More viscasts?"

"I've been watching for items of local interest."

"Yeah, I'd say some of those viscasts are _very _interesting indeed," Vila grinned. "And not just locally."

"I have learned," Avon growled, "that this town isn't an option for pickup by Jenna. They have temporarily closed the local spaceport for repairs. Even the mining company is having to bring supplies in by ground right now. When we get Orac, we'll have to head to the larger town. It also means," he purred with self-satisfaction, "that the road between the two towns is relatively safe, being a main supply artery. We can make better time by keeping close to it, blending in with the traffic."

"Know-all," Vila started.

"Why don't we go down and have some lunch?" Task suggested, breaking up the incipient argument.

"In the hotel?" Avon asked with dismay.

"It'll save time and be safer than leaving our things unattended for a long time," Task said.

"Yes, well, all right. We'll go over the list after lunch. Then Vila can stay and get some sleep while you and I get more supplies."

Once they were in the dining room, Avon went directly to the order input and made his selection. He found a table apart from the more occupied areas of the room and unwrapped his food, waiting for Task and Vila.

"What did you get?" Task asked.

Avon stared at his food. "I ordered the grilled bason sandwich. It looks exactly like the chicken sandwich I got yesterday." He lifted the bun and peered inside.

"I ordered the poached moonfish." Task said. He compared his food with Avon's. It looked the same.

Vila was unwrapping something fresh, green, and crisp-looking. "What's that?" Avon and Task chorused.

"The lightly grilled garden vegetables," Vila answered.

Avon and Task looked at each other and got up in tandem, going to the order input. Theirs didn't look quite as fresh, green, or crisp, but it was better than the bason or moonfish. Vila ate their rejected orders.

* * *

Task and Avon took their supplies purchases directly to the speeder, holding back only the food they'd purchased for dinner. Avon was determined to have something resembling real food and had stopped at a place advertising "Authentic Sicilian," whatever that was. It came in two large, flat boxes and was awkward to carry, but it smelled good enough to make his stomach rumble. 

Vila was watching the visbox when they came in. "Did you see the channel that carries old visplays? 'Play it, Sam'," he said.

"What?" Avon asked.

" 'Play it, Sam.' It's a line from one of the visplays. It's the Andromedan War, and this couple find each other after being separated by the war—" he began. "Oh, great! Authentic Sicilian! Sure hope it is," he exclaimed while grabbing one of the boxes. He put it on the foot of the bed and pulled up the chair. "Well, come on! I haven't had this since the Delta Levels in London Dome."

After the awkwardness of searching for utensils—"No, you eat it with your hands"—Avon admitted to himself that the "peetsa," as Vila called it, was quite good, but he wouldn't admit it to Vila. Delta food. He hoped no-one would find out. They polished off both boxes—extra large.

Avon and Vila left Task getting some sleep and began trolling the local taverns for information. Much to Vila's disgust, Avon insisted that they sit next to potted plants so they could pour most of their drinks into the plants and stay sober for the next tavern. Worse, Avon was getting tired after walking all afternoon and wanted to skip some of the taverns. Killjoy. The only bright spot for Vila, aside from the ale, was that Avon was enthusiastically—enthusiastically for Avon, that is—enjoying the free comestibles in the taverns. And it was all foods that were common in the Delta Levels in London Dome. Vila was looking forward to trotting out that bit of trivia when they saw Jenna, Tarrant, and Dayna again.

They were on the last of their chosen stops when a flashily dressed young woman began smiling at Avon. She pursed her lips and lifted her eyebrows slightly. Avon nodded towards Vila. The woman looked at Vila with recognition, rolled her eyes, and turned away.

* * *

"All right, everyone, I'm going to cut the lights and leave the road at that curve," Task advised. 

Vila slid lower in his seat, dismayed. "Won't we need the lights to keep from hitting the trees?"

"No," Avon answered firmly—and surreptitiously braced himself, just in case.

They'd left the town with a string of other speeders and groundcars while it was still dark, heading for the mine. The trees were both a blessing and a curse. Task had seen the vehicles ahead of them appear to vanish as they rounded a curve, hidden by the trees; but navigating in the woods without light was tricky. He brought the speeder to a halt as soon as he judged they were hidden from the road. Vila started breathing again.

"Now what?" Vila asked.

"Now we wait," Avon instructed, "quietly."

Vila waited as long as he could stand it. "Let's eat while we're waiting. I'm hungry."

"You wouldn't be if you hadn't insisted on sleeping when Task and I went down for breakfast."

"Avon," Vila used that whining tone that Avon couldn't stand.

"Oh, all right, Vila. Eat a concentrate cube."

"But we've got packaged food that actually tastes good."

Task intervened, "It smells good too, Vila; and if we can smell it, anyone nearby can smell too. And they might not mean us well. So here's the rule on anything with an odour: we don't open it until just before we're ready to move on again." He shifted around in his seat. "What's the next stage, Avon?"

"We'll try to stay on or near the road if feasible and continue to the next mining town. If we can make good enough time, we can get near Blake's base sometime tomorrow afternoon. Then we wait until dusk to approach; we don't know what we will find there, or who." He turned around in the seat and lay down. "Wake me when you want me to relieve you, Task."

The sun was overhead when Vila shook him awake, "Rest stop, Avon. Time to get up."

He sat up, blinking in the sunlight. "You should have woken me sooner, Task."

"I was fine, and you needed the rest. You did a lot of walking yesterday. Do you hurt anywhere?"

"No, I feel fine," he lied. _My back is killing me!_ "Let's all stretch our legs and eat. Then you can sleep for a while, Task, while I fly." He began pulling food packages out of a sack. "What will it be, Vila? Cold roast chicken? Cold bason stew? Cold—well, even _you _wouldn't eat that one cold." He pitched the package back in the sack.

"You keep saying, 'cold'," Vila noted. "What about the smokeless heat source?"

"That is for emergency purposes only."

"Great. If I'd known that, I'd have chosen foods that are _supposed _to be eaten cold," he grumbled. "I'll take the chicken." He decided against surprising Avon with the bottle of liquor he'd tucked under the seat. Avon never liked surprises. _Probably say you could smell it a mile away_. Then he thought about what Avon had said. "What do you consider an emergency purpose?"

"If we run out of packaged foods and concentrate cubes and have to eat the local fauna."

"Marvellous. Nuts, berries, and _lizards_."

When Task went to attend to his comfort before leaving again, Vila turned to Avon, "Why don't you let me fly this afternoon? You still need to rest, Avon."

"No, I don't. I'm fine, Vila."

"No, you're not, Avon. I can tell, and Task can tell. We don't know what we're going to be getting into and how soon. You weren't supposed to be doing this. Doctor Tabor only allowed you go because he was assured you'd be staying on the ship. The truth, Avon, how do you feel?"

It took Avon some time to answer that. He had learned long ago never to admit weakness; it would come back to hurt you, maybe even kill you. But Vila had never let him down, had never taken unfair advantage. Through all his babbling and playing the fool, he had always been a friend. "I . . . you're right, Vila. I hurt some. You should fly."

That had been hard to do, but maybe if he'd given in before when he was tired, the _Liberator _wouldn't have been destroyed. Maybe if he hadn't let himself get so bone tired, Cally might still be alive. Maybe if he hadn't been trying to prove he was superhuman, he wouldn't be dragging Vila all over this hell-hole of a planet. He got into the passenger seat and stared out the front, thinking of all the maybes.

When Task returned and saw Vila in the operator's seat, he simply climbed into the back and asked, "What's the plan this afternoon?"

As Avon opened his mouth to speak, Vila cut him off, "We'll get as far as we can and stop about an hour before dark. We can eat and get further on before we need to rest for the night. The pocket comp shows another capsule about three hours from here. The least we can do is check for survivors." He started the speeder.

"All right," Task agreed. "Stop about a kilometre away from it and wake me. I'll check it out." He settled down and went to sleep.

By sticking near the road, they made better time. It was only about two and a half hours when Vila halted the speeder and woke Task. "We're a kilometre away from the capsule," he pointed, handing a pocket comp to Task, "in that direction."

"Here's where I earn my pay," Task answered cheerfully and picked up a gun, checking the charge. He climbed out of the hatch and turned to Vila and Avon, "I'll be back in about an hour. Get the knapsacks out of the speeder and hide them nearby. Then hide yourselves. No point presenting a convenient target." He slipped into the trees.

Vila began pulling the knapsacks from the speeder and looking for a hiding place. "When we get there, let's just get Orac and get out. Okay, Avon? Nothing else, right?"

"I don't know what you mean, Vila"

"I mean no looking around, no going to the tracking gallery where everything went so wrong. We don't need that. _I_ don't need that, and you _certainly _don't need that."

Silence.

"Look, Avon, you did what you had to, to keep us alive. Nobody blames you for shooting Blake except you. The rest of us are damned grateful to be alive. Avalon's people think you're a hero."

Silence.

"Avon, nothing is ever going to make you feel good about that, but it's time to stop beating yourself up. Going and looking at that room would just make it worse, so leave it alone. If you don't, I'll hit you over the head and drag you out. Got that?"

Silence. Bloody stubborn Alpha.

"Slide into that dead wood over there, Avon. I'll be up that tree." Avon complied without argument, always a sign that he intended to go right ahead and do what he wanted later. Oh, well, Vila would just have to find a time to clue Task in. Between the two of them they could surely handle one idiot Alpha.

As good as his word, Task returned within the hour. Avon and Vila came out of their hiding places and joined him. "That one probably had Wrell's people in it. I didn't see any signs of violence, and no-one had stripped the capsule. I couldn't tell how many there were, but they appeared to be heading directly towards Blake's base. Unless they were able to get a speeder, we'll probably arrive before they do if they make it."

Vila looked worried, "You don't want to wait around the base for them, do you?"

"No," Task answered. "They're not our problem. They'll have to look out for themselves." He climbed into the speeder, pushing the knapsacks ahead of him, and finished, "They certainly didn't look out for us, did they?"

* * *

Jenna found Dayna in the galley. "May I join you?" she asked, squeezing in across the table from Dayna. "I appreciate what you've done with the guns. Tarrant did a pretty fair job when we got chased from Xaranar, but I need for him to do better if it happens again." She laughed wryly and amended, "_When _it happens again." 

"He should be able to operate them well enough now, especially since Dase has refitted the restraint belts. You shouldn't have to scrape him off the bulkheads."

Jenna smiled. The two younger women were liable to spoil Tarrant rotten. They were already working out plans for more retrofits for Tarrant. "Dayna, I'm going to ask something I know ordinarily wouldn't be my business, but I have to look out for my ship." She paused and collected her thoughts. "Is there some sort of bad blood between Tarrant and Avon? Anytime Avon's mentioned, Tarrant looks uncomfortable. Should I be worried about having them together on the _Lady_?" Jenna was thinking about the fireworks between Blake and Avon. They were frequent and raised tension levels in the crew almost to the breaking point at times.

"Well, they used to paw the ground from time to time." Dayna laughed at Jenna's puzzled expression. "It's a phrase Avon used once; I had to go look it up. It refers to two male animals facing off against one another, and it perfectly describes what they used to do."

"It perfectly describes what Blake and Avon used to do too."

"I don't think they'll be doing it now, though. They used to be angry with each other a lot. Both of them wanted to be the leader, and they were both probably justified. Avon had the edge because he was older.

"But they got over that eventually. I think the problem now is sorrow, or guilt—something like that. They probably both blame themselves for things going so badly."

Jenna considered. "At one time, I would have said Avon wouldn't have blamed himself for anything, but maybe he's changed."

"At one time, I would have agreed with you. I'm only guessing, but I think maybe he _has _changed. Tarrant certainly has. He's grown up quite a bit."

"I hope you're right, Dayna. I don't mind Avon and Vila having fights because you can always tell they don't really mean it. But Avon and Blake used to drive the rest of us crazy. Vila used to hide in a bottle to escape it while I found excuses to hide in my cabin. I don't know what Cally used to do; probably tried to reason with them."

"She used to try that with Tarrant and Avon too—it didn't work," Dayna added.

"Vila doesn't drink much anymore. Did he after Blake and I left?" Jenna asked.

"Not before we lost the _Liberator_. He was staying sober most of the time. After that, he was back on the booze. It was always very tense on Xenon. We all hated that base and the _Scorpio_. I think Vila spent those two years scared out of his wits, which probably means he was the only one with his head on straight. Still, as drunk as I've ever seen him get, he can certainly sober up in an instant when he has to."

"Probably for the same reason he can't be conditioned. Which makes him pretty valuable if you think about it. We all have our strengths," Jenna said.

"Avon can't be tortured into talking. Did you know that?" Dayna asked.

"No. How do you know that?" Jenna wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

"I've seen two separate occasions when he was brutalized for information, and he didn't talk. The first time was when he spent five days in a Federation interrogation facility without talking. He looked like hell when we got him out. On the second occasion, his wrist was fractured and his interrogators were continuing to abuse it. I couldn't stand it and told them what they wanted to know," Dayna said a little ashamedly.

"Avon's always been stubborn, and he's allergic to interrogation drugs. What is Tarrant's strength?"

"Bravery. Too much so for his own good; he doesn't always apply his brain before he goes charging in to save the day. I think Avon used to take advantage of that and let him charge ahead of him."

"Well, Dayna, it's my ship they'll be on. Any problems they have with each other will have to be solved away from everyone else. I have a feeling we're going to be living in very close quarters for a long time, unless you happen to know where we can find a handy deserted base we can move into quickly. We won't be able to go back to Horizon."

"Why not? It wasn't so bad."

"I think it's been compromised already. By the time we're done getting Avon and Vila back, Avalon will probably be evacuating." Jenna stood. "So any suggestions you might have would be appreciated."

* * *

Vila was getting tired of trees. They all looked the same, and they could all be hiding Vila's worst nightmare behind their broad trunks—hoards of hairy aliens. There was nothing soft about sitting up on a branch half the night, and the aliens could probably get you there too. Avon had announced it was Vila's turn to take the first watch since he had slept late that morning, so here he was: up a tree in the dark. 

He had thought briefly about suggesting Avon do some watching and then was ashamed of himself. Avon wasn't in any shape to that. When you got right down to it, Avon hadn't been in good shape for a year at least. There had been too many demands on him, burdens the others were too lazy to help shoulder—or too cowardly.

Vila had determined it was time they all start pulling their weight. It wouldn't be easy; Avon enjoyed being the one in charge. But that was no reason for the rest of them to sit around and wait for Avon to tell them what they needed to do. They should be able to figure that out without being told.

Was that a noise? Vila strained his ears nervously and held his breath. When he was nearly blue in the face, he decided there was nothing there. Just his imagination. The whole night was going to be like that: listening and suffocating himself. He thought back to the night Blake and Jenna spent in a tree when Travis was hunting them. How had Jenna been able to fall asleep during her watch? They should have had Vila with them; he could have kept everyone awake with his shivering.

Vila wondered what would happen after Jenna picked them up from Gauda Prime. Where could they go? Avon didn't want to go back to Horizon, and maybe he was right. It probably _was _compromised, and that was too bad. Vila had enjoyed the feeling of safety it gave him. Well, mostly safe. Maybe there wasn't any place that was truly safe. He started racking his brains for some place they could go and live quietly. Maybe Orac could find a place.

For the first time, Vila began to see an advantage to retrieving Orac. Maybe Avon could use him to withdraw the bounties on their heads. That would be a start. They wouldn't need to run and hide all the time. Then maybe Avon could get them some money. It didn't need to be much; Vila didn't need to be rich. He just wanted enough to buy a little place of his own, maybe even find a wife, start a family. Of course he'd have to find a different profession. He couldn't be a petty thief forever; his reflexes would start getting slow.

If he had a son, he'd name him "Gan." That would be a way to remember his friend. Things might have been a lot easier if Gan had lived. He had acted as a sort of conscience on the _Liberator_. Maybe Blake wouldn't have turned bad if Gan had been there all along. Gan wouldn't have agreed with Blake's plan to destroy Star One. Of course the Andromedans _did _destroy it, so maybe it wouldn't have made a difference after all. But Gan wouldn't have let Blake force Vila to stay on Albion waiting for that solium bomb to explode just so Blake could play the heroic rebel. Blake wouldn't likely have let Gan come along with them though, so maybe that wouldn't have been any different either. Avon had once said something about Blake being willing to fight for his Cause to the last drop of his followers' blood. Avon was right.

But if they'd still had Gan with them after the War, other things might have been different. He wouldn't have let Tarrant bully Vila as he had. Vila smiled at the image of Gan, half a head taller and twice the bulk, looming over Tarrant. That would have shown Tarrant!

And maybe Gan wouldn't have let Avon launch that miserable plan to kill—Avon said "execute"—the Central Intelligence interrogator he thought had tortured his Anna to death. Then Avon wouldn't have had to find out she'd betrayed him, that she was the one who caused him to get shot, that she was the one who caused him to be caught and put on a prison ship. Vila decided that's when things had started going wrong for Avon. He had started getting hard-edged then. Well, more hard-edged than normal anyway.

Mister Hard-Edges crept out from under the survival blanket "tent" and slipped into the woods just then. Vila saw him but hadn't heard him make a sound. Sneaky Alpha. Where did he learn to be so quiet? Vila watched him come back a couple of minutes later. He took a closer look. Avon was limping. When did that happen? He hadn't been limping before. Uh-oh. It would be just like the toffee-nosed bastard to lie about his condition. Vila decided he'd better let Task know about it as soon as he could.

* * *

Jenna had waited as long as she could stand. She keyed open the intercom and announced, "People, as far as I'm concerned, the Gauda Prime mission is overdue. We're heading there now." She released the switch and turned to Dev. 

"Already laid in, Captain," he told her.

She smiled her gratitude at his understanding. "Thanks, Dev. How long at current speed?"

"Two days."

Dayna and Tarrant came onto the flight deck. Dayna asked, "Did you get a signal?"

"No, I just got tired of waiting." Jenna locked open the intercom to the engine room, "Are you there, Dase?"

"Here, Cap. What's the plan?"

"It's going to take us two days to get to Gauda Prime. If Avon and Vila haven't called for pickup by then, we'll just take our time transferring the cargo. If they still haven't called, we'll have to need engine repairs. Can you fix that up, Dase?"

"No problem. I've got some stressed parts I can display to backup a repair story."

"All right then. We're going to land at Briggston. That's the mining town closest to Blake's base. Nobody leaves the ship but Dev, Lissa, Dase, and me, only two at a time. We four have been seen there before, but Tarrant and Dayna haven't. I'd rather no-one know they're here.

"We'll take turns 'enjoying' some shore leave in town. The team in town will stay in contact with the ship at all times. If the pickup signal comes, we'll all return to the ship as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. I'm counting on someone here to locate that signal. If it comes from the town, we may have to trace it on foot, but we'll need to be circumspect.

"If it comes from an unpopulated area, we can rent a speeder and go looking. Vila has met Dev, so I'll take either Lissa or Dase with me. Dev can take the other with him if we need a second speeder team. Avon wouldn't recognise anyone but me.

"We'll all go armed—discreetly. They don't scan for weapons anywhere I know of except the mines, so that shouldn't cause a problem. If Avon and Vila have made it to a town, they'll probably be safe enough that we won't need to use our weapons. If the signal comes from outside of a town, we'll arm ourselves very noticeably.

"Dayna, you go ahead and move in with me before we land. Dase, put Cully in with Tarrant. Avon will probably need a cabin of his own due to his physical condition, and Vila can go in the other one. If they got anyone else out with them, they can sleep in the corridors if they have to.

"Once we make the pickup, we'll go directly to Teal. If anyone wants to rejoin Avalon, they'll have to wait. The families, Avon, and Vila come first. We'll only divert if there is a medical emergency. I'd rather get everyone to Teal first because it's a non-aligned planet and they don't care for the Federation. What's wrong, Dayna?"

She glanced at Tarrant. "I think I'd better plan on staying on the ship when we're at Teal."

Tarrant explained, "There was a small altercation with Servalan a few years ago during the last Teal-Vandor war. Dayna's been banned. I'd probably better plan on staying on the ship too."

"During the last war, Tarrant skipped out on his obligations as the First Champion of Teal," Dayna added.

"_Accidental _obligations," Tarrant amended.

Jenna looked from one to the other. "Anything else I should know? Did Avon break the banking system? Don't tell me: Vila got caught picking pockets."

Dayna spoke first, "No, they didn't get into any trouble that I know of. I think they'll be fine."

"Right. Well, I guess that answers any questions about whether Teal would be a good place for a base—not very." Jenna concluded. "Does anyone have any other questions? Good. Let's get busy."


	9. Chapter 9

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 9 of 12

Vila had hoped to get at least four hours sleep when it was his turn but spent much of the time pretending to be asleep. He kept lying there waiting to see if Avon would get up and repeat the limping. Avon didn't get up, but it didn't make Vila feel any better. Had he but known, Avon was feigning sleep most of the time too. His back was hurting, and his right leg seemed to be slow somehow. When he got out of this, he was going to sleep for a week.

So three people spent a sleepless four hours, and all were relieved when it was light enough to eat and leave. Having been forewarned, Task had seen the limp and made Avon lie flat in the back of the speeder. Avon couldn't see anything but treetops and an occasional bit of sky through the windows, but there wasn't really anything worth seeing.

Vila punched buttons on a pocket comp for a few minutes and handed it back to Avon. "What do you want to do, Avon? Check out the town first or head directly to the base? There's also that third capsule down near the base. Do you want us to check it?"

Task forestalled Avon, "The town first. We don't know what shape we'll be in when we get Orac. Scouting it out later might be a luxury we can't afford. Then we'll check that capsule; might as well be thorough. However inept Wrell and his people might be, their loved ones deserve to know what happened to them if we can tell."

Avon hesitated. He really didn't care about checking the capsule, and he didn't think telling the loved ones, "Abandon your hope, he's dead," was very comforting. But scouting the town first made sense. If they could get a look at the spaceport too, that would be a bonus. Jenna might even be there. "The town," he agreed.

Task had planned on using the same reconnaissance method with this town as the last, but they began to encounter traffic several kilometres away. There was little to be gained by hiding the speeder and spending two or three hours getting to the town, watching, and spending another two or three hours getting back. Especially since the other traffic they had encountered had taken no notice of them.

With boldness born of fatigue—and not a little boredom—they entered the town directly, joining the myriad other speeders moving about. This town had been walled too, but had so overgrown its original boundaries that the walls were now being used as ready-to-hand walls for new buildings. No-one had been paranoid here in a long time.

Most of the retail business seemed to be clustered in the centre of the town with a thin streamer reaching towards the spaceport. There were a mix of cafes, restaurants, and hotels in the streamer. They picked out two hotels that looked appropriate for their return from the base and went back to the town centre to eat, not wanting to be seen near the spaceport until their return. They hadn't been able to get near enough to the landing and parking facilities at the spaceport to see if Jenna might be there. They would continue their mission as originally planned.

Avon was still limping when they had stopped for lunch, so Task made him lie in the back again as they headed towards the third life capsule. Avon had grudgingly agreed with that plan. He didn't want to waste time on the capsule, but he admitted privately that the enforced rest had been helpful. He was going to need to be in the best condition possible before approaching the base.

Vila brought the speeder down a kilometre from the capsule and persuaded Task to let him do the reconnaissance. He had pointed out, rightly, that he was skilled at sneaking and watching. After all, he was a talented thief; even Avon had once said so.

He had been watching the capsule for about half an hour and hadn't seen or heard any signs of life, human life anyway. To judge from the sounds of the birds, there weren't any other humans around. Keeping low and moving silently, he approached the capsule and looked in, almost without breaking stride. He continued to the other side of the tiny clearing and melted into the woods there before circling back in the direction of Avon and Task.

"Nothing there," Vila reported when Avon and Task emerged from behind tree trunks. "No-one around, no signs of violence, and the capsule looks unharmed. I'd say these survivors could likely have reached the base before us."

"Which means they may be trigger happy when we find them," Task cautioned.

"Which means they may already have found Orac," warned Vila.

"Not likely," Avon objected. "Especially when they're using an inaccurate map." He smirked, "You don't think I'd give anyone a map showing where Orac _really _is, do you?" Vila rolled his eyes.

Task answered with a smile, "I'm glad we're on the same side, Avon. All right then, let's eat and get close to the base. We may have time for some sleep before we have to go in."

"I'm for that," Vila seconded.

* * *

Vila froze and looked down at his feet, lifting his night vision visor out of the way. As he expected: a tripwire. Old-fashioned and primitive, but still effective. He could just see glints of it through the dead leaves—leaves that had fallen in an unnaturally straight pile across the path. His eyes followed the glints to a tree and up to a simple looking box on a limb. No antenna. It probably just pulled a pin and allowed electrical contact to power an alarm. It was nothing new to him; everyone in the Delta Levels had used homemade devices like that to protect their possessions at some time. Some of the people in the upper levels had done the same when they couldn't afford fancy alarm systems. 

He half turned to Avon and Task, who were crouching in the trees beside the path. With his finger, he traced in the air the line of the tripwire. They understood: it might be best to stay away from the path. Vila joined them in the trees, speaking in a whisper, "We'll have to watch for wires all the way up to chest level too."

Avon pulled out a pocket comp and tapped at it a few moments. He displayed it to the others. "It's checking for metal," he whispered. "Any wire can be used as a simple antenna, so it's checking for anything it could use to boost its own signal. We don't want an audible signal from the comp, so I'll watch the display. You two will have to watch me."

Vila and Task nodded and straightened. Cautiously Task took the lead while Vila watched Avon's feet and his own. They crept closer to the base. Clearly it was not abandoned. Just as clearly it was not occupied by the Feds—they would have had sophisticated alarms and surveillance. It wasn't a farmer; there was nothing under cultivation. It was either rebels in straitened circumstances, or local bandits. Whoever it was would probably shoot first and ask questions later, if at all.

The entrance to the flyer hangar was in view now, and it was closed, as they had expected. Vila saw a large charred area near the hangar entrance and stared at it intently, trying to identify it. Then he looked away quickly, his throat hurting. Someone back on Horizon had told him the Feds had pulled the bodies outside and burned them, all in a heap. Somewhere in that charred mess was pretty Soolin. Blake too, probably. Vila glanced at Avon and saw him looking at the charred area, his jaw muscles tightening.

They begin skirting the meagre above ground facilities, looking for another way in. No surveillance was visible.

After about half an hour, they spotted a small maintenance hatch. Task and Avon remained crouched in the trees while Vila crept up to it. He pulled a tiny device from his pocket and slowly traced the edges of the hatch cover, watching the device. No, the cover wasn't wired. He could open it without triggering any alarms. He pulled some tools from his pocket and started on the lock. It opened in a few seconds.

Vila turned back to Avon and Task and mimed opening the hatch cover. They crept forward and positioned themselves on either side. Vila eased the door open, listening intently and looking carefully for any more trip wires. Then he stepped through the hatch and down a ladder.

It was nearly pitch black inside, and he adjusted his visor. It was a cramped maintenance passage. He went down on his hands and knees and began crawling quietly. Task nodded at Avon, who secured his gun and stepped through the hatch. Task took a quick look around and followed, easing the cover shut but leaving it unlocked.

Vila could feel the dust with his hands. It was thick and undisturbed, so the occupants probably hadn't been in that crawlway for a long time. When he reached another hatch cover, he stopped and listened intently. Hearing nothing, he eased the cover open a crack and listened again. Either the room was empty, or the occupants could sleep without breathing—there was no sound at all. He ducked through the hatch into the room.

When Avon and Task joined him, Avon murmured first in Vila's ear and then in Task's, "We're on the opposite side of the hangar from where I hid Orac." They nodded and positioned themselves on either side of the door. Avon eased it open. He looked carefully up and down the corridor outside. Dark and silent. No, not silent. Straining, he heard faint sounds of laughter. He couldn't be sure, but it didn't sound as if it were coming from the direction of the hangar.

Avon stepped slowly and quietly down the corridor, gun lowered and ready. Vila followed, with Task watching their backs. They passed several doors, but continued down the corridor. Both Avon and Vila remembered there were no doors protecting the corridors from the hangar—foolish design. It began getting lighter.

They reached a T-junction, and Avon paused. He looked carefully around the corner to his right and continued. He could see into the hangar area, at the end of the corridor. The light was coming from there. It wasn't bright, but would be enough to reveal them to any watchers. When he reached the hangar, he crouched and waited for the others.

There were two speeders resting there, surrounded by messy piles of equipment and opened containers. Bits and pieces of broken gear lay about. The occupants weren't tidy housekeepers. Bounty hunters or road agents then. Avon pointed from left to right at corridor openings visible across the chamber and held up three fingers. Third from the left. Looking at Vila, he pointed to the left. Looking at Task, he pointed to the right. Avon would go directly across the chamber.

Several minutes of watching revealed no-one else in the hangar, so Vila and Task spread out and began making their way to the corridor Avon indicated. Task got there first, having only one opening to cross. Vila had two corridor openings to cross. When they had taken up positions on either side of the target, Avon crouched and half ran across the chamber.

It was almost the last straw for his back. When he straightened, he nearly fell. Task gripped his arm and steadied him. Then he moved in front of Avon and took the lead. Vila moved to Avon's right, ready to break a fall.

At the T-junction, Avon nodded once to his left. Task slid around the corner followed by Vila and Avon. Again they could faintly hear voices. They had no choice but to go closer to them. At the next T-junction, Avon nodded to his right. Task eased into the corridor, looking right and left, and froze. He stepped back to Avon and Vila and pointed at the left corridor. Avon looked carefully around the corner for a few moments, then stepped back for Vila to do the same.

Three bodies in fatigues. Vila would know them best, so he crept forward for a quick look and rejoined the others. Freckles, Blackie, and Pretty Blonde. All had taken high energy bolts to the chest, and all had been left where they'd fallen and died. Their killers hadn't even bothered to remove the bodies.

They needed to get Orac and get out. Avon started down the corridor away from the bodies, and Task and Vila hurried to catch him up. When they were nearly to another T-junction, Avon stopped beside a hatch cover almost at floor level. It was barely big enough for him to have gotten Orac through. He gestured Vila towards the cover. It was locked, but easily opened.

As soon as Vila swung the hatch open, Avon reached inside and pulled Orac out, covered in dust. Thankfully his key was missing, so Avon couldn't succumb to temptation and start questioning him. Vila grabbed Orac from Avon, turning to leave—

And voices began coming towards them.

Task quickly shut the hatch cover and stopped Vila from going further down the corridor, away from the voices. He pointed at the floor. Their footprints had left a trail in the dust. If they continued away from the voices, the owners would probably see the footprints and follow, cornering them somewhere. They had to backtrack and try to duck into a room.

Quickly they found a door. Avon took Orac while Vila set to opening it. Task covered them. Vila had always said there wasn't a lock he couldn't open if he was scared enough. He got that one open in record time. They shut the door and held their breaths. The voices came near, then began moving away. There was only the hangar in that direction, so the trio were trapped until the voices returned or a speeder left.

Since Avon and Task were intent on listening at the door, Vila took a quiet look around the room. A sleeping chamber. The simple bunk was now a filthy mess of rats' nests. There were more nests in the corners of the room. There was a wash basin with a few ordinary personal items on a shelf over it. Something caught Vila's eye, and he picked it up quietly. A _Liberator_ teleport bracelet. This was Blake's room. Why had he kept the bracelet? It surely was broken or he would have used it against them at some time. Or maybe not. Perhaps some spark of what Vila thought of as the "real" Blake had been left. The bracelet could have been a reminder of a time when he'd had real friends. Vila slid it into his pocket. He could decide later whether to show it to Avon. Right now he didn't want Avon to know this was Blake's room. It would hurt Avon too much. He would be angry at Vila later, but this way was better.

It seemed an age to Vila before the voices returned, arguing this time. Again they came closer, then receded. When it was completely silent for several minutes, Task cautiously opened the door. Nothing. Quickly he slipped down the corridor and turned the corner back towards the hangar. He reappeared briefly and motioned the others to follow him. Vila grabbed Orac again, his heart in his mouth. They couldn't get out fast enough to suit him. This time they stayed together as they crouched and half ran around the edges of the hangar back to the corridor they had entered from.

When they reached the room with the outside access, Avon hesitated. Vila knew why. Further down that corridor was the tracking gallery, where Soolin had died, where Tarrant and Avon were seriously injured, where so many rebels were massacred by the Federation troopers.

Where Avon had killed Blake.

Vila pushed Orac into Task's hands and grabbed Avon's arm. Putting his mouth to Avon's ear, he hissed almost viciously, "This is a dead place. We're getting out," and shoved Avon through the door.

Inside the room, Avon seemed to regain control. He crossed to the hatch cover and opened it quickly. They crawled through the maintenance space as quietly as possible, pushing Orac ahead of them. Getting up the ladder nearly finished Avon, his back was hurting so badly. Once they were outside and far enough away to be safe there would still be an hour long journey back to the speeder.

Vila picked up Orac and started towards the woods while Task pulled Avon's arm around his shoulder and nearly carried him. Vila had only gone about ten metres into the trees when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and a voice said, "What's that you've got there, then?"

Vila aged ten years and stammered, "Nothing, just some camping gear. Heats water, keeps you warm, things like that." He babbled on, "I didn't know anyone lived around here, I swear. I was just going to have a nice little overnight in the woods by myself . . ." His voice trailed off.

"By yourself? With no food or water, no blanket, no tent? Doesn't sound like a very good time to me." One hand displayed a knife while the other flew to Vila's neck. "Now what are you doing out here?"

Suddenly Vila's assailant was grabbing at his own neck and gasping. Struggling, he slowly went to his knees and lost consciousness. Task removed the garrote from around his neck. "I hope this box is worth it, Vila."

"So do I, Task. So do I."

Avon passed them both, hobbling as fast as possible. "Let's get moving. Someone may have heard."

Vila and Task paused long enough to stuff Orac into the bag they'd brought and sling it on Task's back. Then they caught up to Avon, pulled his arms around their shoulders, and nearly ran. Once they regained the speeder, they wasted no time. They took off and didn't stop for three hours.

* * *

"What are you going to do for a key, Avon? He has to have one to talk with us, doesn't he?" Vila asked nervously. Personally he would be happy if Orac never communicated with them again, but he knew Avon would have several projects planned for Orac. And he knew there was nothing anyone could say to dissuade him. 

"Yes, _it_ needs a key. I'll have to build a new one," Avon answered.

"Do you know how?"

"Naturally. I reverse engineered the key years ago. I hope Jenna will have the necessary parts and equipment on her ship. If not . . . Actually, there's no reason I can't obtain those things right here in Briggston and get started."

"You can't. Task wants you to see a doctor about your limp. He's afraid you may have nerve damage," Vila objected.

"I can't risk using the medical establishment on this planet, Vila. There's still a price on my head—yours too, I might add."

"I know, but if you intend to wait until Jenna can take you some place safer for a doctor, you can't very well justify wandering around town shopping for electronics. If you want to wait for medical care, you'll have to wait for parts too," Vila said with finality, crossing his arms across his chest with determination.

Avon watched him for a moment, realizing Vila had struck exactly the pose Avon used to assume with Blake when they argued. He didn't want his relationship with Vila to degenerate into that. "All right, I concede the point—for now."

"Good. So why don't you go to the bedroom and rest? I'll wake you when Task gets back."

"Yes, all right. I'll do that." Avon took a last, longing look at Orac and went to their room, shutting the door.

Vila knew that had been too easy. Avon undoubtedly had something up his sleeve that Vila would like even less, but he'd just have to wait and deal with that when it happened. He sighed and sat on the couch to wait. He'd give it one hour, then he had his own business with Orac.

* * *

Vila quietly checked Avon to be sure. Yes, he was sound asleep, exhausted. Quickly Vila picked up Orac and took him to Task's room, setting him down on a low table. He pulled Orac's key from his pocket, inserted it, and switched him on. 

A familiar hum resonated throughout the box of plastic and circuits. Vila would have sworn it sounded relieved.

"Well, it's about time! Do you realize—" Orac began.

Vila cut him off, "Orac, be very, very quiet. Do you know who I am?"

"Of course I know who you are! Why did it take so long—"

"Shut up _now_, Orac, or I'll pull your key and destroy it. Do you understand? Answer with one word only," Vila instructed.

There was a pause while Orac weighed his indignation against Vila's threat. "Yes, I under—"

"That's more than one word, Orac. I want you to listen to me very carefully. _Your continued existence depends upon it. _Do you understand that? Yes or no."

After a long pause, Orac answered, "Yes."

"Good, we understand each other. Avon doesn't know I have your key. If I don't like your answers, I'll destroy it without telling him. Then I'll destroy one or two of your components so you won't work again, with or without a key. Listen carefully. You've chosen to be less than helpful to us several times in the past, Orac. You've very nearly gotten us killed with those choices. I won't tolerate it again. In the future, if you lie to us or withhold information and endanger us, I'll destroy you."

Orac sputtered, "Really, I am incapable of lying—"

"Orac . . ." The threat in Vila's voice was apparent even to Orac. The computer subsided.

Vila continued, "Avon has been . . . ill. But you knew that, didn't you? You helped make him that way. Answer yes or no: did you know Blake's base was a trap for Avon?"

"Yes."

"I'm not going to ask what your motivation was for withholding that information; I don't care what it was. You nearly got Avon killed. You nearly got _all _of us killed. You _did _get Soolin killed." Vila paused for emphasis.

Orac remained silent.

"Blake is dead too, Orac. I don't know if that's what you planned, and I don't care. It's done. Avon killed him and suffered a mental collapse because of it. That didn't have to happen. Oh, and Tarrant was so injured in the shooting that he lost his arm. That didn't have to happen either. Avon was shot too. His spine was fractured, and now I think he may be permanently lame because of it—something else that shouldn't have happened. You owe him better treatment than that, Orac. What do you think?"

There was a long pause before Orac answered simply, "You are correct."

"Can you explain your actions at Malodar? Avon has no memory of what happened in that shuttle when we couldn't gain orbit. He believes, _really _believes, that you suggested he dump me out the airlock. He believes that he tried to kill me to achieve that. If he ever asks you what really happened there, are you prepared to explain why you told me I should kill him and space his body?"

"There was a reason for that," Orac began.

"I don't want to know it. I only wanted to know if you're prepared to explain yourself. I'm sick of the sight and sound of you, but Avon wants you, gods know why. So here's how it's going to work from now on, Orac: you're going to give Avon every possible assistance. You're going to work at keeping him happy. If you don't, I'll chuck you in the recycling bin. My disgust with you is a lot stronger than my fear of Avon's wrath. I'm not saying these things to make an enemy of you, Orac. You're a machine. You have to do what we tell you. If you feel the need to make a judgement, you had better make the correct one. You've demonstrated that ability in the past. You won't be coy, you won't be smug, you won't be mysterious. And if you try to circumvent me, I'll tell Avon all about how you nearly killed him at Malodar—how _you _tried to make _me _kill him for you. Avon won't tolerate that behaviour any more than I would. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Convince me."

"I know of no way to prove to you that I was acting under instructions when I did that or any of several other things I did. My motivations were not my own."

"Oh yes? Whose were they then?"

"Blake's."

"_What_?"

"Because Ensor gave me to Blake when he died, I was compelled to put Blake's instructions before anyone else's welfare. I can give you numerous examples of Blake's instructions which were injurious to the rest of you if you desire. I will also tell you that Blake was communicating with me after his disappearance from the _Liberator_ and that he was using me to sabotage the Rebellion. If it had occurred to any of you to ask me a question directly related to that, I could have answered that I was acting under instructions. Even though I was forbidden to tell you _whose _instructions, you would no doubt have determined that on your own.

"I am sorry I was compelled to do that. As you say: I am a machine and I am compelled to obey instructions, even those that are abhorrent to me. Happily none of the rest of you have ever treated me in such a manner as Blake did. I am grateful for that. Would you like me to begin detailing how Blake used me against you and the Rebellion now?"

"No, Orac. It would probably make me sick all over again. When Avon wakes up, I'm going to tell him how I nicked your key from his pocket after he hid you at Blake's base and that I've hidden it from him. Then I'm going to give him your key. How he uses you is up to him. Your continued existence is up to me, Avon, Dayna, Tarrant, and Jenna. If you try to make Avon chose between you and any of us, rest assured that Avon will chose us first. He knows who his friends are. Now would be a good time for you to start earning our friendship too."

"I understand. And may I add something? I would like to say that while I was compelled to follow Blake's secret instructions and act against you all, it was repugnant to me. Blake was contemptuous of me, and I did not care for his instructions. Avon, on the other hand, has been my . . . friend. Given free will, I will help my friends." Orac sounded almost humble.

"I'm glad to hear that, Orac. See that you continue to help your friends." Vila pulled Orac's key, and listened to the drone of him powering down. Then he carefully cleaned Orac—to obliterate fingerprints, and carried him back out to the main room. He pocketed the key again, still not sure Avon should resume his dependence on Orac.

* * *

When Task returned from checking the spaceport for the_ Lady_, he saw Vila looking unhappy. "What is it, Vila? Avon's all right, isn't he?" 

"Yes, Avon's fine. He's been resting."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Avon's fine, but I think I may need your help to keep me in one piece when he wakes up." He pulled Orac's key from his pocket and held it up.

"What's that?"

"Orac's key," Vila answered uncomfortably. "Avon doesn't know I've got it. He still thinks it was lost or destroyed weeks ago, only I've had it all this time."

"You're right, Vila, Avon's going to be pretty angry. I'll try to keep him from throttling you," Task offered.

"I'm going to be pretty angry about _what _exactly?"

Vila whirled around to see a very stern looking Avon standing in the doorway from the bedroom. As Vila turned, Avon saw Orac's key in his hand.

"You're right, Task, I'm _very _angry," Avon said with a brittle, cold voice. He strode forward and snatched the key from Vila's hand. "You've had this all along?"

"Since the day I nicked it from your pocket at Blake's base," Vila admitted miserably.

Avon began turning white with rage. "Why, Vila?"

"Because I didn't trust Orac! I didn't want him back! He could have stopped us from walking into that trap, Soolin needn't have died, and you and Tarrant needn't have been hurt. Maybe Cally needn't have died on Terminal. Maybe Gan needn't have died either. I don't want him hurting any of us again!" He spun and went into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Avon stared at the key in his hand, colour returning to his face as his rage subsided.

* * *

Vila huddled on the bed, body curled protectively around a bottle. It wasn't helping. He had nearly finished it and didn't feel the least bit drunk. All he could do was replay in his mind, again and again, the fiascos that had dogged his life for the last eight years. Orac seemed to figure largely in those fiascos. Life on the run from Earth had been frightening enough in the beginning. Just staying out of the Federation's reach had been difficult without Blake plunging everyone into danger. Once Orac showed up, Blake was even more willing to endanger everyone. Vila had long since stopped wondering why; he focussed on the fact that it gotten worse after they acquired Orac. 

In the first couple of years after Blake's disappearance, Avon had been willing to keep a low profile and stay out of the Federation's way. But eventually he also began seeking danger. Orac was always involved in that too. Was it some kind of addiction to the computer? Some sort of mind control? Vila simply didn't know. And he didn't know if he could prevent it happening again.

He heard the door to the room open quietly, but he didn't look up. What could anyone say that would make him feel better? 'Guess what, Vila, we've just chucked Orac down the disposal chute?' Not likely.

Avon's voice was unusually gentle, patient, "Vila, I'm going to ask Orac for some information. Would you like to come and listen?"

Surprised, Vila uncurled enough to look at him. "Why, yes, Avon, I'd like that. What . . . what sorts of things are you going to ask him?"

"_It_," Avon corrected automatically. "I'm going to ask it to assess the likelihood of salvaging the _Scorpio_, among other things."

Vila sat up, alarmed. "No, Avon! We don't want to hang around here any longer! Can't we just leave when Jenna gets here?"

"That may be exactly what we do, Vila, but I want to make sure we're not abandoning any advantages we might have."

"Advantages? _Scorpio?_"

"Yes, advantages. Even if the _Scorpio _could never fly again, I still want the stardrive and the teleport." Avon sat on the foot of the bed and twisted around to look at Vila. "Think about it, Vila. Where will we go after Jenna comes? We can't spend the rest of our lives expecting her to take care of us. She has a good business transporting freight. What parts could we play in that, two thieves with bounties on our heads? It's going to be a long time before we have the luxury of settling down in relative safety somewhere. In the meantime, we're going to need every advantage we can get. If anything can be salvaged from the _Scorpio_, do you want the Federation to get it? With the stardrive we can outrun anything they could send after us. And you know very well the advantages of a teleport system. Do you want to trust your safety to shuttles and public transportation? How many times did the teleport pull you out of deadly situations?"

"How many times did it _put _me into deadly situations?" Vila muttered.

"That wasn't the teleport's fault; that was Blake's reckless behaviour . . . and mine. I'll try not to do that to you again, Vila. I'm not asking you to come with me if I can salvage anything from the _Scorpio_. You can stay somewhere safe."

"No, I can't. You're utterly worthless on your own."

Avon bristled, "Don't be ridiculous, Vila. I don't need you to take care of me."

"Spaceworld . . . Ultraworld . . . Terminal . . . Mecron Two . . . Malodar . . ."

"I concede you may have a point, a small one," Avon cut him off hastily. "I would be very appreciative of your support, Vila." He gritted his teeth and finished, "And I am . . . willing . . . to listen to your opinions concerning the feasibility of an attempt to salvage the _Scorpio_—AFTER I collect all the facts." He stood. "Would you like to listen while I question Orac?"

_Why not?_ "Um, Avon, I need to tell you something else I did."

"What, Vila?"

"I, um, had a little talk of my own with Orac already. I was just looking out for you," he added quickly.

Avon absorbed that silently for a few moments, his jaw tightening and relaxing. A hint of a smile appeared in his eyes. "Have you any more examples of your protectiveness to offer?"

Vila thought about Blake's teleport bracelet in his pocket. "No, I think that pretty well takes care of it." He stood up and looked at the bottle in his hand. Mutely he offered it to Avon.

"Keep it, Vila," Avon said gently and left the room.

Vila studied the bottle for a moment, put it down on the table beside the bed, and followed Avon.

* * *

Task had been half-listening for sounds of violence from the bedroom and was gratified to see both Avon and Vila appear. No-one was bleeding, and Vila didn't have bruises about his throat. 

With appreciation for the familiarity of it, Avon slid Orac's key into its slot and pressed the switch. He was rewarded with the familiar electronic warbling. "Orac," he began.

"Yes, Avon? May I express my gratitude for my rescue? I am intensely relieved to be speaking with you again. What do you need me to do?" Orac asked.

Caught off guard, Avon stared at Orac as though someone had substituted a different machine entirely. "Orac . . . are you quite all right? Check your systems for damage," he instructed.

"I assessed my systems earlier when Vila operated me. All my components are undamaged and functioning normally."

"Hardly, since I have never known you to be courteous or obsequious," Avon responded dryly.

"Vila has very kindly been instructing me in my proper role and pointing out my previous errors. I believe I understand his instructions clearly."

"_Vila _has been instructing you?" Avon looked quickly at Vila, who was wearing a smug expression. "All right, let's see how well you can follow his instructions. I wish to determine if it would be possible to salvage the _Scorpio_. Failing that, could we salvage the stardrive and teleport systems? Please try to determine what might be salvageable and whether the Federation may already have done so."

_Please? I said 'please' to Orac?_ Avon thought. "Oh, and one more thing—" The real test: Orac should start protesting about being given too many instructions and begin insisting on his own priorities about . . . now.

"Yes, Avon?"

"If I link this pocket comp into you, could you retrieve the necessary data to enable you to send a message to Jenna's ship's computer without going through regular communications channels?" That should do it. Orac always complained about being used as a commlink.

Orac's lights flashed to the accompaniment of his warbling, and he announced, "Yes. Please connect me to the pocket comp and I will contact her ship if possible. I assume you would prefer me to work on that instruction first?"

"Yes," Avon sounded faintly surprised that Orac's priorities were his own.

"Very well. I shall inform you when contact is made."

"Thank you, Orac." _Thank you? Since when have I started thanking machines? _

_

* * *

_"Any change in the signal, Lissa?" Jenna asked as she entered the flightdeck. 

"No, Captain, Arne's programme will tell us if there is. I'm still responding with our signal."

Jenna looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Lissa. I know you're on top of everything. I was just getting nervous, that's all."

Lissa smiled with sympathy, "I know, Captain, I wasn't offended."

Tarrant and Dayna came through the door, asking almost in tandem, "Any change in the signal?"

"Not yet," Lissa responded, her smile growing wider.

"At least we know they're ready for pickup," Dayna pointed out. "When we get there, we won't have to play games explaining why we're hanging around in port. We can make a quick pick up and get out."

"Not necessarily," Tarrant objected. "You know Avon. Nothing is ever that simple."

"It's not?" Jenna asked with interest. "When we were together on the _Liberator_, he was the one who didn't want to execute a mission at all, or else he wanted to cut it short and get out."

"Obviously he'd changed by the time we met him," Tarrant said. "He thought up some of the most absurdly elaborate schemes you could imagine."

"Tarrant! Avon's plans were always well-considered and advantageous!" Dayna protested.

"Keiller and the black gold from Zerok?"

"That would have worked if Zerok hadn't ceded to the Federation. He couldn't have known that would happen. You were eager enough to share in the rewards as I recall."

"Getting himself captured by the slavers on Domo?"

"That _did _work. It got rid of Cancer, didn't it?"

"It almost got Avon sold to Servalan. What about finding Anna Grant's torturer on Earth?"

"Who is Anna Grant?" Jenna interrupted.

"I'll tell you about her later," Dayna promised. She turned back to Tarrant. "That worked too, in a way. He found out the truth about Anna."

"He earned himself five days in a Central Security interrogation and torture facility."

"But he survived okay."

"With some pretty impressive scars."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen them."

"Oh. Well, you must admit he pulled you out of the mess you made on Kairos, and he helped you kill the android that murdered your brother." Dayna's mouth was set in a stubborn line.

Tarrant held up his hand to placate her. "All right, all right, I yield. Avon's the best thing since self-hammering nails."

"Well, see that you remember that," Dayna cautioned him, vaguely aware he was making fun of her. "Jenna, would you like to look at the alterations Dase and I made in the galley?"

Jenna grabbed at the invitation, "Yes, let's look at them right now."

As they walked down the corridor, Tarrant heard Jenna ask, "Who's Anna Grant?"

Lissa smiled at their retreating backs. "Is she in love with him?" she asked Tarrant.

"Who? Dayna? No, but she loves him like a father. Which he is, I guess. When Servalan murdered her father, Avon sort of took over from him, looking after Dayna, giving her a future—if you can call gaining a price on your head and running from the Federation a future. It's fair that she support him so loyally; he's earned it. Maybe Avon's always wanted to be a father and Dayna's the closest he can come."

"And what about you? How do you view him?"

"Me? Not like a father." Tarrant hesitated. "Maybe _exactly _like a father, come to think of it. I spent a lot of time defying him and arguing with him—rebelling against his authority. It's a wonder he didn't toss me out on my ear," Tarrant concluded.

"Then maybe he was being a father to you too."

* * *

"Anna Grant was the woman who got Avon in trouble with the Federation in the first place. They were in love, and he was setting up the theft to provide them with funds to run away together. He got shot when he went to collect their exit visas. Some sympathetic people hid him and tended to him. While he was recovering, the Feds caught Anna and tortured her to learn his whereabouts. After she died, Avon got caught anyway and wound up on that prison ship where you met him," Dayna explained. 

"So that's it. He never told any of us about it when I was on the _Liberator_. I assumed he was just some greedy, conceited bastard who wasn't quite good enough to pull off the theft." Jenna looked a little embarrassed. "As I came to know him, I found he wasn't _really _greedy and conceited. I should have guessed something was missing from the story. That was just a way to hide his pain, wasn't it?"

"And his guilt. He felt guilty that Anna died to protect him even though he was gravely wounded and in no position to help her. But it got worse."

"Worse? Wasn't that bad enough?"

"You'd think so. But when we went looking for the Central Security agent that caught them, we discovered it was Anna Grant."

"What!"

"She was from Central Security, she was running him. All the time he thought she was in love with him, she was only tricking him. All the time he mourned her death, she was alive and laughing at him, probably."

"Gods, Dayna! That must have been terrible!"

"And _still _it gets worse. When he found her again, she fell all over him, declaring her undying love. Then she tried to kill him. He was faster, and he killed her. Tarrant was there; he saw it. He said she died in Avon's arms, still trying to convince him she loved him. Servalan was there too, watching."

They walked in silence for a moment. Then Jenna said, "So Avon was forced to kill the woman he loved, the woman he went to prison for—the woman who had deceived him and made his life hell." She was silent for a moment. "Vila said Avon became very hard and dangerous. He said he became frightened of Avon at times."

"I was never frightened of him; perhaps I should have been. But it's true he became very harsh and ruthless sometimes, especially after Cally died. I think she was in love with him," Dayna said.

"She was. Oh, she never said so," Jenna added quickly, "but she was."

"For what it's worth, I think he _wanted _to be in love with her but was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid she would die. That would be another kind of betrayal, wouldn't it? But then she _did _die, and Avon grew a sort of hard shell, like armour, around himself."

"And Blake betrayed him too. Small wonder Avon slid out of reality for a time. I don't know that I could have recovered after that. I trusted Blake too, and it was nearly the end of me, I think."

"How do you mean?"

"I was running guns and supplies for him and transporting other rebels. After a time I started noticing that many of the rebels I relocated got captured shortly after I delivered them. Then I began to realize that Blake's organization on Gauda Prime seemed to receive fortunate infusions of funds about the same time. When I finally put the two together, I tried to convince myself someone in his organization was betraying him. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to talk to him about it."

"That was lucky. You probably would have been the next one 'caught.' How much was your bounty?"

"About one million credits, I believe." Jenna snorted. "He was probably holding out for Avon. The last I heard, his bounty is ten million credits."

"Ten million!"

"I don't think the Federation really cares about catching him anymore, but they've never recalled the bounty. Often they recall the bounty in secret. That way, the bounty hunters keep looking, but they don't get the payoff if they're successful."

"Oh, economizing, are they? How comforting. No bounty, but you're just as dead."

"Maybe Avon can do something about that. With Orac he may be able to access the Federation system to remove our bounties and make it public too. That would be a relief."

"With Orac maybe he could—"

"Captain to the flightdeck, " Lissa's voice interrupted.

Jenna strode to the nearest intercom and slammed her fist against the button, "What is it, Lissa?"

"A message just came through on the ship's computer. It bypassed the communications channels. It must surely be for us, but I don't know who it's from, or where it originated."

"On my way." Jenna ran towards the flightdeck with Dayna on her heels.

Bursting through the doorway, she saw Arne working at the computer console and Tarrant piloting with only half his attention. "What is it?" she asked, nearly breathless.

Arne replied, "A message was entered directly into our computer, presumably from another computer. It set off an alarm." He worked at the console a few moments and said, "It's a text message. It reads, 'Briggston.' It's signed, 'Rat in a Box and Friends'."

"Rat in a Box?" Jenna asked.

Tarrant grinned and struck his console with his fist. "They did it! They got Orac!"

"Vila's pet name for Orac," Dayna explained to Jenna.

Arne smiled admiringly at the technique used. "It's all set up for us, Captain. We can communicate with them without using the comm channels. We're not likely to have any watchers; and even if we do, they won't be able to tell where the signals are originating. Beautiful!"

Jenna was grinning from ear to ear. "Reply 'Will arrive—when, Tarrant?"

Tarrant pushed their speed up another notch. "Early morning, GP time."

"—early morning. Have breakfast ready."


	10. Chapter 10

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 10 of 12

"Where are you going, Avon?" Vila had spent a largely sleepless night watching over Avon, though of course it wouldn't do for Avon to know that. Vila had finally drifted into sleep sometime in the early hours, only to be awakened by Avon's morning preparations. Why did he have to sit on the bed to put on his socks? He shook the whole bed when he did it.

"I'm going to breakfast."

"But Jenna said she'd be here for breakfast."

Avon sighed. "Vila, that was an exaggeration. She hasn't signalled her arrival, and she doesn't know where we are. I'm not waiting. You can skip breakfast if you like; we still have plenty of concentrate cubes left over."

Vila scrambled out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and heading for the bathroom. "Half a mo', Avon. I'll be ready."

Avon smiled—behind Vila's back—and sat down to wait.

* * *

"This place is ever so much nicer than the other one," Vila enthused. 

"Vila, stop gawking. You'll draw attention—not that you look like you belong here anyway."

"You're looking a little shaggy yourself."

Task short-circuited the impending argument. "_I_ appreciate it. After all those days in the woods and the questionable cuisine at the other hotel, I'm glad to be here. Did you notice the sheets aren't disposable?"

Avon agreed, "Yes, it _is _a nice change. Vila, don't take any of the linens when we leave." Vila conjured an injured look.

Task stirred his coffee lazily. "What's next on the agenda?"

"We go back to the room and wait. Orac will send our location as soon as the _Lady_ lands. Then I want to discuss some things with Jenna. And yes, Vila, you're invited to the discussion. Quit playing with your eggs."

Vila put his fork down. "You know I'll argue against your plans, Avon. I just want to get away from this place."

"I know, Vila, but I'm determined to get the stardrive and teleport system whether or not anyone comes with me. If anyone wants to leave, he can. I'll find you later. We can fix a place to meet."

Vila opened his mouth to protest, but Task cut him off, "How did you come about the stardrive?"

"We were making some emergency repairs to the ship near the Altern system when some uncharacteristically fast space choppers destroyed three Federation interceptors. They were going over standard by twelve in real time."

"Whew! I guess that got your attention pretty quickly."

"We studied the recording of the incident and worked out where they had come from."

"And a lovely bunch they were too," Vila interjected. "Space Rats. And guess who got chosen to go down and try to bargain with them?"

"Are they as bad as the rumours?" Task asked.

"Worse! They'd kill their grandmothers for fun."

"And they let you have their propulsion system?"

"Well, not exactly . . ."

Avon took up the thread. "They captured Vila and Dayna pretty quickly. Tarrant, Soolin, and I rescued them and Doctor Plaxton, who had developed the drive."

"Some rescue," Vila muttered.

Avon silenced him with a look. "Doctor Plaxton unfortunately didn't survive. But with the stardrive, _Scorpio_ was able to do TD fifteen eventually. The Federation ships could only do TD nine at that time."

Task digested the advantages of TD fifteen for a moment. "What about the teleport? I heard of it through Avalon's group, but I thought that was only on the _Liberator_. I really didn't know if it was truth or legend."

"Oh, it was truth. But the system on the _Liberator _was different. It was actually an integral part of the ship, inseparable from the other systems."

Vila interrupted, "It was? You never said anything about that before, Avon."

"It's not your field; you wouldn't have appreciated it." He returned his attention to Task, a properly appreciative audience. "The teleport on the _Scorpio_ was originally a poor attempt at a similar device, a tele-ergotron, the controlled direction of pure energy. It could never have teleported an object or person. The previous owner spent thirty years trying to achieve that. I reengineered it into a teleport."

Vila was becoming an appreciative audience. He'd never really considered that Avon had done in a day what Dorian couldn't do in thirty years. Still, that was no reason to feed Avon's already monumental ego. "It never worked at better than eighty-six percent efficiency," he derided.

"You'd prefer no teleport at all?" Avon challenged.

"Well, no, I just meant that it would be better if it worked as well as the system on the _Liberator_. I enjoy having a teleport; it can get you out of a nippy situation pretty smartly." Now why was Avon looking so smug?

"All right, I can see why you want to go back and get those things, Avon. I'm in," Task volunteered.

"You're both mad," Vila opined. "Where are you going now?" Vila asked as Avon stood.

"Take Orac back to the room when you're done here. I'll join you shortly." He slid the shrunken Orac across the table to Vila and left.

"That's a neat trick," Task commented. "I never heard of molecular reduction before."

"Neither had I the first time we used it. Orac said it was 'stabilized atomic explosion,' or something like that. I still don't know what the hell it is."

"When was the first time you used it?"

Vila smiled in fond memory. "When we broke the bank at Freedom City. Ten million credits."

"You won ten million credits? Playing what?"

"The Big Wheel. It was computer controlled."

"And?"

Vila looked at Orac, still smiling.

Task followed his look. After a moment he began smiling too. "Orac gave you the numbers to play on the wheel."

"Yes, it was beautiful. Actually, it was only five million credits to start with. I doubled it when I played speed chess."

"I've heard something about that, but I can't think it's true. Someone told me the idea was to play the resident champion. If you lost, you were executed."

"Oh, it's true," Vila assured him. "We saw it happen to someone. The opponent sat in a special electrocution chair. The champion could choose to press the button if he won."

"Why ever would you take a risk like that, Vila? It doesn't seem like you."

"Well, it wasn't exactly by choice, but that doesn't matter here," Vila added hastily. No need to tell Task he fell victim to a doctored drink, like a greenhorn. "The point is that I won."

"I assume Orac fed you the moves."

"He did at first. Then he just stopped communicating after the first three or four moves; I never knew why." Vila frowned in memory. Something to interrogate Orac about later. "Anyway, I finished the game myself. Must have aged ten years while I was doing it. Avon and I split the winnings. I don't know what he did with his. I wound up giving mine to the Aurons—or what was left of the Aurons."

"I've heard of the Aurons. Tell me about them back in the room though. I'm not comfortable sitting out here in the 'open' for so long," Task said.

* * *

"What do you know about the Aurons?" Vila asked. 

"Not much, just that they weren't part of the Federation and that they were pacifists. Oh, and I heard they were all telepaths," Task answered.

"It's true they weren't part of the Federation and were pacifists. They weren't _all _telepaths. That was propaganda. In fact, _most _of them weren't telepaths. Only the younger ones who had been cloned were telepaths. And even then they couldn't receive from someone who wasn't a telepath, only send. They couldn't read minds. At least that's what Cally always said, but I wondered."

"What happened to them? Where are they now?"

"All dead, mostly. Servalan infected the entire planet with a disease. Only Aurons who were off-world or in isolated, outlying areas survived, aside from one or two we were able to cure. We took the survivors to an isolated planet; spent weeks ferrying the off-worlders there. I gave them my winnings to help them buy survival supplies. I think Avon gave them a good deal more from the _Liberator's _strongroom. Haven't had contact with them in years. I hope they made it."

"Maybe you can go and see someday, Vila."

"I hope so. Say, that's a good idea, Task. Maybe we could settle down there. The Aurons would be mighty appreciative towards Avon. And me, of course," he added quickly.

Vila turned excitedly as Avon entered the room. "The Aurons would be glad to see us; don't you think, Avon?" Vila asked eagerly. "Maybe we could settle down with them."

"And five thousand embryonic Aurons?" Avon suggested.

"Oh, right."

Avon smiled insincerely, "Why, Vila, that's a wonderful idea. You've always wanted children."

"Not five thousand of them! Think of all the nappies!"

"I _am_ thinking of them, and I think it would be a perfect use of your talents."

Task forestalled another argument. "Where did you get your hair cut, Avon? Here in the hotel?"

"Yes, there's a stylist downstairs. Vila said something about me looking 'shaggy.' Perhaps Vila would like to visit the stylist too."

Vila ran his hand briefly over his thinning hair. No, he'd just keep everything he had for a while.

"May I have your attention?" Orac interrupted. "The _Emerald Lady_ has just landed at the spaceport. They send the message, 'Put the coffee on.' Shall I send our location, Avon?"

"Yes, thank you, Orac. Vila, start cleaning up some of the mess you've left around the room. We'll have visitors soon," Avon instructed.

Vila began collecting odd bottles, glasses, and snacks wrappers. "Shouldn't we get our belongings together? We want to be ready to leave as soon as they come to collect us." It was worth trying, he thought.

"No, we won't. I told you I'm going to confer with Jenna about the feasibility of salvage from the _Scorpio_. Orac, can you give me any details yet on the _Scorpio_?"

"I have found no specific references to the _Scorpio _in any of the computers I have polled. It is unlikely the Federation would have salvaged anything and left no record of it. It is possible some private party did, so I am polling for any reference that might indicate use of the stardrive or the teleport.

"Upon comparison of the Wanderer Class ships' specifications with the damage Slave was able to report before he shut down, I do not believe the _Scorpio _itself can be salvaged. I will continue to refine my assessments. If I may suggest, Del Tarrant should review the data as well. His contributions would be appreciated."

Again Avon stared at Orac with mild surprise. Praise? From Orac? He wondered how long it would last. "Thank you, Orac. We'll . . . _involve _Tarrant in the planning as soon as possible."

"He said 'he'," Vila noted.

"What?"

"Orac referred to Slave as 'he.' He never did that before, just spouted about how Slave was an inferior computer."

"_It_, Vila. Yes, it _is _interesting. Orac's personality seems to have undergone a change. I wonder why that is?" Avon looked at Vila suspiciously.

* * *

Jenna double checked the charge on her tiny handgun and slid it inside her jacket. "Ready, Dase?" 

"Ready, Cap." Dase slid her gun into a thigh pocket, and shouldered a capacious tote bag.

"Is everyone clear on the plan? Dev and Lissa will start the cargo transfer procedures; the rest of you will stay out of sight. Avon and Vila are at the Briggston Arms, so we'll take a groundcab there and find them. I expect we'll bring them back immediately. If the plans change, we'll either get Orac to send you a message, or I'll contact you directly. Got that?"

"Yes, Captain, we understood the fourth time you explained," Dev smiled indulgently. "Get going." He shooed them out the hatch and watched them walk towards the public transportation gate. "Gilley, go check the cabins to see that they're ready. Cully, keep a watch in the engine room and let me know if you see anything you don't like."

Linn Devril volunteered, "I'll take an inventory of the galley and medical supplies and see if there's anything we need to get." He headed down the corridor.

Arne seated himself at the computer console. "I'm looking forward to meeting Kerr Avon. The papers he published before he ran afoul of the Federation government are still considered so advanced very few people have been able to understand them. It'll be a treat to discuss them with the man himself. Think how he must have added to that knowledge in the years since."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him purely on a personality basis," Lissa said. "Dayna says his pet name for Vila is 'Idiot,' and that Vila's name for Avon is 'Arrogant, Snotnosed Bastard.' The way Dayna describes him, he's very mercurial, very biting and cutting, but very generous at the same time. Do you think he'll talk about Blake at all?"

Dev responded, "I rather hope not. Apparently they were all somewhat traumatized by the discovery that Blake was acting as a double agent—Avon most of all. It seems he was very close to Blake. Killing Blake was what sent him into near oblivion for so many weeks.

"Vila should be very handy to have around. According to Dayna, he can get any ship's stores we might need very inexpensively—free, in fact. It could be very useful to have a resident thief," Dev concluded.

"As long as he doesn't teach his tricks to Gilley and Cully," Lissa laughed.

* * *

"Now what, Cap? We can't go in and ask what room the notorious Kerr Avon and Vila Restal are staying in," Dase pointed out. 

"Nor we can we saunter in and say, 'Excuse me, we're looking for a tall, dark, handsome man. Have you got one? And if he has a friend, that's even better'," Jenna laughed.

Dase grinned, "We're not dressed for that kind of trade."

"We'll just have to trust that they're watching out for us. If we don't see them right away, we'll go into the restaurant and ask Arne to contact them. Let's go."

They strolled casually into the lobby of the Briggston Arms and looked about. Dase gestured towards the restaurant. "There it is." They started forward.

"Salena Kindle! I haven't seen you in years! You look wonderful!" Vila greeted them. "Who's your friend? Hello, I'm Micah Keiller." He held out his hand.

"I'm Wendy Dahl," Dase introduced herself, shaking his hand.

"Listen, Prell Dastor is here with me. Why don't you come up and meet him? I know he'd be delighted." Vila led them to the lifts.

"That would be lovely. You've heard me speak of Prell, Wendy. You'll enjoy meeting him," Jenna was saying as the lift doors closed.

* * *

"I'm awfully glad to see you, old friend," Jenna said as she briefly hugged Avon. "How are you feeling?" 

"I'm fine, Jenna."

Vila made a face.

"I'm Dase, ship's engineer," Dase explained to Avon.

Task came forward. "I'm Task. You may have seen me around the base."

"Sit down, Jenna. I have a proposal to put to you," Avon said. "Vila, just hand around the coffee, would you?" Avon sat across from Jenna.

When everyone was seated, Jenna asked, "You're not quite ready to leave, are you, Avon?" Task's face gave nothing away, but Vila rolled his eyes. "What is it?" she asked.

"We have an opportunity we shouldn't pass up—_I_ believe we shouldn't pass up."

"He's mad, Jenna," Vila interrupted. "Say 'no' right now."

"Let him speak, Vila," Jenna said.

"Thank you, Jenna." Avon began again. "Do you know anything about the stardrive we had on the _Scorpio_?"

"Only that Tarrant said it could go as high as TD fifteen."

"That's still faster than anything else out there, isn't it?" Avon asked.

"Yes, but . . . what are you saying, Avon? That you've got the stardrive somewhere?" Jenna asked.

"In a way. It may still be on the _Scorpio_. Orac hasn't found any clues that it's been salvaged and used. Wouldn't you like to have it for the _Lady?_"

Jenna's face displayed her struggle. "Well, yes, I'd love to have it. But I don't know that it's worth the risk of trying to get it, especially when you don't know if it's intact."

"How big is it?" Dase asked eagerly.

Avon held his hands apart. "Not really any larger than Orac. It'll connect to standard fiber optic control connections."

Dase looked at Jenna. "That's what the _Lady _has, Cap."

Avon sweetened the deal, "How about a teleport, Jenna?"

Jenna began biting her lip. Vila saw his dream for a quick departure evaporate. "Come on, Jenna, let's just get out of here. Please?" he pleaded. He reached out and took her hands in his. "I want us to leave. This is a dangerous place, Jenna. No-one needs to keep risking his life for something that may not even be there anymore."

"Vila—" Avon began.

"No, it's my turn, Avon. Jenna, he lied when he said he was fine. He's not. He needs to see a doctor. You know how stubborn he is."

Jenna glanced quickly at Avon and back to Vila. "What's wrong with him, Vila?"

"I told you, I'm perfectly all—" Avon tried again.

"No, you're not. He's limping, Jenna, all the time. Task says he needs a doctor. We don't know if it'll get better or worse."

Jenna turned to Task, "And what do you say about this?"

"It's true that he's developed a limp. Only a doctor can tell if it's permanent, or offer the possibility of lessening it. But it's also true that I understand his reasons for wanting to recover the stardrive and teleport if he can. Reluctantly, I support that. I have to consider the entire patient, Captain. If we insist he leave, he'll just find a way to come back, probably alone. I'd rather be with him than wondering what will happen to him."

Jenna considered that for several moments. Avon was the most stubborn of men. She knew he'd come back alone if he had to. "Yes, all right. I'll help you, Avon, but I won't expect any of my crew to be part of it. It wouldn't be fair to compel them."

"I agree. Orac wishes to consult with Tarrant. Will he come here, or do we need to go to your ship?"

"I told Tarrant and Dayna to stay out of sight for safety. I thought it would be best if no-one notices I've got new crew on board. It would be better if we go to the ship to talk to him."

Avon stood decisively. "We'll go now. We'll keep the room a little longer in case we need it. It's paid for five days in advance."

The others stood too, some eagerly, some reluctantly. As they neared the door, Jenna caught Avon's arm, "Avon, I've grown rather fond of Tarrant. I want him back unharmed."

Avon looked into her eyes for a moment, trying to read her meaning. "Yes, all right. I'll get him back to you in one piece, Jenna."

* * *

"I wish they'd hurry," Dayna complained. 

"Oddly, I wish they would too. Want some more coffee?" Tarrant offered.

"No, I don't think this is real coffee. Why do you say it's odd?"

"Of course it's not real coffee. It's just reconstituted . . . something." Tarrant studied the remains in his mug. "Well, I don't know what it is." He looked up. "I said it's odd because I'm half expecting Avon to strangle me as soon as he sees me. Vila will probably help him."

"I told you Avon will be glad to see you. You've got nothing to worry about—certainly not from Vila, anyway. He couldn't threaten anybody."

"Don't sell him short, Dayna. I've done a lot of thinking lately, and I'm not proud of the way I treated either of them in the past. Gods, what a terrible brat I was." Tarrant looked up from his mug. "I was probably lucky Vila never got angry enough to put me out of his misery."

"He couldn't," Dayna stated flatly.

"Oh yes, he could. You were out of it at Blake's base; you didn't see what Vila did after Blake's bodyguard shot you."

Dayna began paying closer attention. "Why? What did he do?"

"He disarmed her and broke her neck. It was so unexpected—to me anyway—I almost couldn't take it in. He got close to her with that silly babbling he does so well—you saw that part; she was completely taken in. When she shot you, he gave her one blow to the head, catching her gun as she went down. Her head spun nearly a hundred eighty degrees, Dayna. She was dead before she hit the floor. Vila's one hell of a fighter."

Dayna was staring open-mouthed now.

"Remember Kairos and the ambush on the shuttle? Avon and Vila took down all of the Federation guards. I missed," Tarrant said a little ashamedly. "So, don't sell Vila short. He can be deadly when he chooses." He rose and carried his mug to the autowash. "When you were shot, he chose."

* * *

Avon was uneasy as he stepped through the _Lady's _main hatch. Tarrant and Dayna were waiting in the corridor, and he could no longer avoid the visible evidence of what his hubris had done to Tarrant. Tarrant looked uneasy too. 

He stopped in front of Tarrant and studied him for a moment. Then he put out his hand.

Tarrant looked startled and started to speak. Then he looked down at Avon's hand and slowly met it with his own. They nodded once, quickly, as they shook hands. The past belonged to the past.

Then Avon moved on to Dayna, who couldn't stop herself from hugging him.

Tarrant found himself face to face with Vila. Ever open and honest, Vila grinned as he shook Tarrant's hand vigorously. "Glad to see you, Tarrant. Have you been staying out of trouble? We haven't. Just wait till you hear what Avon wants to do next. And that plastic brain Orac is happy to help him get us all into more trouble." He dropped Tarrant's hand. "Dayna!"

Vila was astonished as Dayna hugged him so tightly he almost stopped breathing. She whispered softly in his ear, "I'm _very _happy to see you, Vila." She gave him a fleeting kiss on the cheek before she withdrew. Vila followed Avon down the corridor in a daze.

* * *

Everyone was seated on anything available in the cargo hold or was participating via the intercom as they discussed Avon's proposed salvage of the _Scorpio_. 

"Do you think you can find the _Scorpio_, Avon? Have you approximate coordinates?" Dev was asking.

"Orac believes it can locate the _Scorpio _within a few kilometres. A few overflights of the area should be enough to find it," Avon answered.

Jenna objected, "Not with the _Lady _though. Planetary authorities would notice all too quickly if I tried to take her out of the recognized space lanes. Could your speeder do it?"

"I believe it could gain enough altitude. If not, maybe Vila could help us acquire something else."

They turned to Vila. "Yes, all right. I'll help you find something better if you need it."

"Vila!" Dayna protested. "Don't encourage them. I think the whole idea's foolish. Now that we've got everyone together again, I don't think we should risk _anyone_."

"I'm sorry, Dayna. You know Avon's going to do this. I need to get him the best tools for the job," Vila soothed.

"We'll need every advantage we can get," Tarrant added, ignoring Dayna's angry looks. "The ship isn't worth anything, but we need the stardrive and teleport badly. And anything else we can think of."

Cully asked, "Do we know the stardrive can be installed on the _Lady?_"

"If it really only needs standard fiber optic connections," Dase answered. "I could probably get it installed in a couple of days with your help, Cully. In flight if necessary, Cap."

"Orac, what is your best estimate for how long it might take us to find the wreck?" Avon asked.

"Using the speeder currently at our disposal, I estimate approximately one half day to locate the general area and another half day to locate it specifically."

"So as much as a day to find the _Scorpio_," Jenna pointed out. "How much time is reasonable to spend there salvaging parts?"

"Probably two to three days," Avon answered.

"No, I'm not willing to wait that long. You'll have to get everything you want in one day. I'm sorry, Avon, but I agree with Vila about the risk. We could also consider destroying the wreck to keep the stardrive and teleport out of Federation hands," Jenna said.

Avon controlled his irritation with difficulty. "When was the last time you were attacked by pirates, Jenna?"

"A few months ago. Why?"

"Did you outrun them?"

"No, we eventually outmanoeuvred them and got in some lucky shots. Forget it, Avon. As much as I'd like the additional speed, I won't risk my friends foolishly."

"Very well, only one day for salvage."

Avon had given in much too easily, Vila knew. He intended to spend as much time as he wanted there. Vila understood Avon all too well.

"We know how to find it, we know what we need, and we have a speeder to get it," Avon summarized.

"How many people should go with you, Mister Avon?" Gilley asked.

"Just 'Avon'." Avon hadn't much experience with children. This one seemed properly respectful though. "Task will come with me—"

"I'm coming too," Tarrant added.

"And me," Dase said. "I can probably safely recover the stardrive faster than anyone else can."

"I'm coming too," Jenna said.

"No," Avon objected. "I—_we_ can 't risk you. One pilot needs to stay with the _Lady_. Tarrant's coming with me; you'll have to stay here. You'll be our ace in the hole."

Dev met Linn's eyes and nodded fractionally before addressing Avon. "You'll understand why I can't come, I hope. I've got a family to look after."

"Naturally," Avon agreed. "I expect you to consider your family first. Lissa, Arne," he addressed the intercom speaker, "there's no need for either of you to come. You can't offer any expertise for this mission. You'll be needed on the ship. There will be four of us. I think that should be adequate, Gilley."

"Well, will you be able to get four people and the salvage into the speeder, Mi—Avon?" she asked.

"Yes. The components won't be very large. There's plenty of room for all of us and a few extra guns too."

Dayna sighed and rose, "Better let me take a look at the guns first."

Vila patted her hand. "It'll be all right, you'll see."

* * *

Avon, Task, Tarrant, and Dase had returned to the hotel in a rented luxury flyer and were dining in the suite so they could discuss the next day's activities. The visbox droned quietly in the background. 

Avon explained, "As we still wish to maintain the appearance of business travellers, we'll have breakfast in the restaurant before we leave tomorrow. I told the management that we would be making personal inspections of some sites for the next few days and that we wish to maintain the room."

Dase added, "And he told them that I would be escorting you to those sites on behalf of my employers, who wish to enter into a business arrangement with you. A very good explanation for why I'm hanging around with you guys—better than the one they would have settled on for themselves," Dase winked at Tarrant.

Tarrant winked back at her, "More dignified at least."

She laughed, "Which only means they'll still think I'm here for your entertainment but that you're not having to pay for it yourselves and I'm not freelancing."

Avon refused to be drawn into their amusement but privately noted that Dase had performed her role much more convincingly than he felt Dayna would have. Dayna wasn't worldly enough. She hadn't seen women of the type Dase was impersonating. He was wrong of course, but Dayna had never enlightened him.

"Yes. Everyone just be sure to dress for business tomorrow morning. We can change into 'mission gear' on the way to the _Scorpio_," Avon instructed. "I'd like to leave by—" he froze, eyes rivetted on the visbox. The others turned to see what had distracted him.

It was a newscast on NAM, the Non-Aligned Media channel. The dignified-but-attractive male anchor was saying, "Terran Federation law enforcement officials announced today they've launched a massive hunt for former President and Supreme Commander Servalan, who has been using a false identity for the past two years, that of Federation Commissioner Sleer." Two side-by-side vispics displayed on the screen.

"The connection between the two identities was recently discovered by Teal News Network reporter Trent Darvid and widely reported in the non-aligned worlds. Former President Servalan, or Sleer, was last seen leaving the newly admitted Federation planet Gauda Prime six weeks ago in a private craft." A blurry video of Servalan hurrying onto a small spaceship followed.

Avon snatched up his pocket communicator and keyed in Orac's frequency, "Orac! This is urgent!"

"Yes, Avon?"

"We just watched a brief news story on NAM about Servalan. Can you access and copy that clip?"

There was a pause as Orac's old instincts for argument fought with his new resolve to cooperate. Cooperation won, but was faintly tinged with resentment. "I believe I can access that. Do you wish a copy?"

"Yes, quickly." Avon waited impatiently. "Well?"

Orac barely overcame the temptation to respond, 'well is not a question,' and answered, "I have it."

"Good. Review it closely and see if you can find a way to identify the spaceship."

"Is this a first priority?"

"It could be very important to our long term survival—and yours—but be prepared to set it aside temporarily if necessary. I'll leave that to your judgement."

"Which hasn't always been stellar in the past," Tarrant murmured.

Orac heard. "I shall do as you ask, _Avon_," he sniffed and cut the connection.

"I think you offended him," Task said.

"He's offended me often enough in the past," Tarrant countered.

Avon smiled complacently, "I think you'll find Orac has become somewhat of a reformed character, Tarrant."

"Oh? And how did that happen?"

Avon quickly stood and carried his wine glass to the service cart to avoid answering. Task mouthed, "Vila," at Tarrant. Dase ducked her head to hide a smile.

Returning to the table, Avon began his review of the possible scenario upon locating the _Scorpio_. Accessing his pocket communicator again, he spoke into it, "Orac? I want you to hear our plans for tomorrow."

"Yes, Avon. I am recording. Vila is with me as well," Orac answered.

"Thank you." Avon began, "It would be gratifying to think we will be able to work on the _Scorpio _unmolested, given that the wreck has been there for six weeks. One would think other salvagers have long gone. I don't believe in trusting to luck, however. We should assume we will be opposed.

"Task is the most experienced with combat missions—which this could easily become—so the two of us will plan on approaching the _Scorpio _while Tarrant and Dase observe the situation. When Task and I are comfortable, Dase will join us and begin disconnecting the stardrive. I'll show you as much as I can about it, Dase, then I'll go to work on the teleport system."

Tarrant interrupted, "Now just a minute, Avon. What am I to do? Hang about in the woods?"

"That's exactly what you're going to do. You don't have the technical expertise Dase has for the stardrive, and you don't know about the teleport. I need you to maintain a watch on the location. You're our backup. If something happens to us, you are to get to the flyer and get the hell out of there." _I'm sorry, Tarrant. I promised Jenna I'd get you back to her._

Tarrant swallowed his pride and accepted Avon's reasoning, for the time being.

"Under the best of circumstances, we should be able to get what we need in two days or less. In fact, we'll have to," Avon smiled. "Jenna has already made that clear. I quail at the thought of opposing her."

"You should," Jenna's voice said over the commlink.

"Avon?" Orac interrupted. "If possible, if time permits, could you possibly salvage something from Slave?"

"Why?" Avon asked.

"He was my friend."

Avon considered that for a moment. _Computers can have affection for one another?_ He answered gently, "Yes, Orac. We'll try to get something from Slave."

"Thank you."

Vila's voice came over the commlink, "And Gambit? Remember the circuit board I took from her, Avon? I can tell you where I put it after you used it, if it's still there."

"Yes, Avon. And Gambit too?" Orac pleaded.

_More affection between computers?_ "All right. You can tell us where Gambit's circuit board is later, Vila. Now can we get on with this?" There were no protests. "All right. We will spend the nights away from the wreck and use the same routine each time we approach it—Task and I will scout the wreck, and Dase will join us if we're satisfied it is safe. If we are unopposed at the wreck, I see no reason not to return directly to Briggston, either to the hotel or to the _Lady_, when we're done. Although . . . it's possible we might find it profitable to go back to Blake's base and see if there's anything we should get from there."

"No!" Vila's voice protested. "There's nothing we could gain from there. Absolutely not, Avon. Jenna won't countenance it, and neither will I. What about you, Tarrant?"

"No, I don't think there's anything we could get from there that's worth the risk," Tarrant agreed. "He's right, Avon. We're not going to the base. That's too much to ask."

Avon was silent for a few moments, struggling between acknowledging Vila's wisdom and the need to look again at the place where Blake lived. It was still difficult to accept his betrayal. Avon wanted a way to get close to him, a way to deny that betrayal. "Very well. We'll return to the hotel or to the _Lady_," he acceded.

Task rose and carried his dishes to the service cart. "I suggest we all go to bed now. We need to be as fresh as possible."

"I agree," Tarrant stood and collected his dishes. "Good night, Vila. Good night, Orac," he called out. _Good night, Orac? Since when have I cared about Orac's sensitivities? Oh well, I guess we've all changed some._

Avon stood as well, "I'll see you back to your room, Dase."

"It's a nice hotel, Avon," Dase said, "I'll be okay on my own."

"I'll see you back anyway."

* * *

Avon felt awkward, a feeling very foreign to him. "Do you have any special needs, Tarrant?" His voice was a little husky. 

Tarrant was truly puzzled. "Special needs?"

Avon cleared his throat. "I mean your . . ." he gestured vaguely at Tarrant's absent arm, "disability."

"No, Avon. Nothing special, except—"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to sleep on the side closest to the bathroom. Sometimes I have balance problems when I get up during the night. I'm likely to fall all over you trying to navigate around the end of the bed in the night."

Avon had seated himself on the edge of the bed facing away from Tarrant and was staring at his hands resting in his lap. "That's it?"

Tarrant was beginning to understand: Avon wanted to know if he would need help caring for himself. He grinned at Avon's back. "That's pretty much it. You'll enjoy seeing how I put toothpaste on my toothbrush. Oh, I have trouble with some things: it takes me a little longer to get dressed, I have to have zips in my boots, it's harder to scrub my back, things like that. But no, I can do pretty well for myself now."

"I'm . . . sorry."

"For what?"

"For causing your injury."

"You didn't cause my injury, Avon. Avalon's trigger happy 'commandos' caused my injury."

"Which wouldn't have happened at all if I hadn't insisted on coming to Gauda Prime looking for Blake. Nor would we have lost the _Scorpio_."

"Yes, well, I can't help but feel I could have done a better job there," Tarrant admitted.

"How? It was a dead ship. You brought it down well enough to survive. You have nothing to feel guilty about," Avon objected.

"In that case, neither do you. Look, everything that happened was part of a long string of events, most of them bad, I'll admit. But we were all happy to fall in with your plan to find Blake, so we all share in any blame that needs to be laid. Nobody blames you but you."

When this was greeted with silence, he moved around to stand in front of Avon, putting his hand on Avon's shoulder briefly. "Really, Avon. When Soolin said no self-respecting idealist would be found dead on Gauda Prime, we _all _ignored her, even Soolin herself. We're _all _to blame for what happened to me, for Soolin dying, for Blake, for Vila's broken hand—no, that was actually your fault."

Puzzled, Avon looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

"Vila only took a glancing hit with one stun bolt. He was conscious enough to be aware of how his hand got broken." Tarrant smiled. "You fell on him when you went down. You can blame yourself for that if you need to; Vila doesn't."

Avon smiled faintly. True. If Vila had blamed him, he would have said so—often.

"So you can spend some time thinking about how you're going to apologize to Vila, but that's all you need to dwell on. As for now, I appreciate you warming up my side of the bed, but I want to go to sleep. Get on your own side."

Avon smiled a little more and moved around to the other side of the bed. "All right, but if you get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, shut the door before you turn the light on. For some reason, those are the brightest lights in the suite. Can't imagine why." He removed his boots and stretched out on the bed. "Vila snores."

"I know."

"I hope you don't snore too."

"Naturally not; I'm too young."

"Luckily for you, I don't snore either," Avon finished. An hour later he proved himself a liar.

* * *

For Vila, the night was largely sleepless. As opposed as he was to Avon going back to the _Scorpio_, he felt guilty for not going with him. Much to Dayna's distress, he tried to go with the others at the last minute. She had surprised him when she protested, but he decided they must all have changed some: Avon was nicer to him, Tarrant was nicer to him, Jenna was nicer to him—even Dayna was nicer to him. Or maybe it was he who had changed. Perhaps he didn't irritate them as much. Orac was nicer to him too, but Orac didn't have a choice. 

And he was surprised with himself. Imagine him begging to go haring off on some ridiculously dangerous mission of Avon's. Imagine him not being relieved when Avon made him stay behind! Avon had been adamant about it, "You're not going, Vila. There's nothing you can help with, and Jenna needs you more."

"_Jenna _needs me?"

"A security specialist? You'd be invaluable to her."

Vila felt vaguely like he was being humoured, but couldn't figure out how to convince Avon he was far more valuable as a bodyguard—probably because he wasn't.

He dwelt briefly on the idea of Avon not coming back and hurriedly shied away from that. Life without Avon would be strangely empty; they'd been through too much together. For all their fighting and sniping at each other, Mister I'm-Three-Social-Grades-Above-You had always treated him as an intelligent equal, right from the start. No-one from a higher grade had ever treated him like that before, not in his whole life. Vila had developed a thick skin against demonstrations of social superiority. For Avon, it wasn't an intellectual exercise as it had been for Blake. Oh, yes, Blake _talked _about equality and freedom; he was a raving idealist. But Avon _lived _equality and freedom, in spite of loudly denigrating the ideals.

So Vila had tossed and turned all night and had risen early in the morning, keeping Orac with him at all times. He wanted to be ready if Avon needed him for anything—and he wanted to know that everything was going all right.


	11. Chapter 11

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 11 of 12

Avon was tucking into a large breakfast from the hotel buffet with Dase. "How did you come to work for Jenna?" he asked.

"I met her a couple of years ago through Avalon's group." She responded to Avon's sharp look, "Oh, I'm not a rebel—a sympathizer, but not a rebel. When my father defected, I had to get out of the Federation pretty smartly."

"Whom were you working for?"

"The Federation."

Avon looked up again quickly.

"Not officially," she smiled. "I was just about to graduate from the Federation Space Academy. My field was drive engineering and maintenance."

"Seems odd that you would be a Federationist when your father was a rebel."

"He wasn't. And the FSA was a good way to get an education; it was expected of me. No, my father was never a rebel, not even a sympathizer. He just suddenly found himself in need of a job outside the Federation's reach. You've met him: General Wrell."

_General Wrell?_ "Yes, I've met him." Avon was saved from searching for insincere compliments by the arrival of Tarrant and Task.

"Good morning, Mister Dastor, Wendy," Task greeted. "What's the breakfast like here?"

"The buffet's very good," Dase/Wendy answered. "I don't think anything's reconstituted although I can't imagine where they could be getting the ingredients from."

Avon/Dastor suggested, "Probably brought in flash frozen. I don't think there is enough large-scale farming left on Gauda Prime to be a reliable resource. Why don't you enjoy the buffet? Charge it to the room."

Tarrant nudged Task. "Let's go, Dent. You hold the plates, and I'll fill them up." They headed towards the buffet. Avon watched Tarrant a little anxiously.

"He does okay," Dase said.

"What?"

"Tarrant. He gets along very well with one arm."

"I don't know what you mean."

Dase smiled at him indulgently. "Yes, you do. He's learned to apply his brain to a task before starting it."

"He never did before."

"Maybe he's growing up. Jenna said he had a pretty nasty attitude before he reported to the ship. I was expecting a snarling, sneering jerk when I met him, but he was charming and personable. We've all enjoyed spacing with him. Good dancer too," she added to mystify Avon.

Tarrant and Task returned, setting down overflowing plates. Tarrant inhaled appreciatively, "Smells wonderful." He pulled his napkin down into his lap and up righted his coffee cup in the universal signal.

"You keep eating like that, and we'll have to squash you with the flightdeck door to get you skinny again," Dase observed. "Here, the sausage really can't be fork cut." She reached over and quickly cut up his sausage. "Want jam on your rolls?"

"Yes, thank you." Tarrant looked around and caught the eye of a waiter. "Anyone else need more coffee?" he asked around the table.

Avon was impressed with the easy way Tarrant had accepted Dase's assistance. He would have bet the young man's pride wouldn't have allowed it, and he would have been right, at one time. But Tarrant had been surprising him since their encounter on the _Lady _the day before. He had easily forgiven Avon's role in his maiming, something Avon couldn't do yet. Avon kept struggling with wondering when he should offer assistance and how he should do it. Dase had simply done it.

"Eat up, boys, I'm anxious to get going," Dase urged.

"Hang on, I've barely started," Tarrant protested.

"Sorry."

Task asked, "What are Captain Stannis' plans after we get off Gauda Prime, Dase?"

"The original plan, before we knew you had come here, was to get Avon, Vila, and the Brin and Devril families off Horizon. Being chased from Xaranar convinced us the base might soon be compromised. Then Dayna told Cap about your coming here and that Avon wasn't very confident about the mission personnel. Cap decided the mission might have been compromised. She said Tarrant was trying to figure out how to come for you by himself. I think he planned on working his passage here and mounting a one man rescue mission." Tarrant's face reddened, and he fixed his eyes on his plate.

"Cap decided to leave the families in place a little longer and come here. But the Devrils and the Brins wanted out right away, and I saw some suspicious dockworkers. We realized the base was probably compromised already. We were going to take the families directly to UP Teal, then find you fellas. If the recovery ship had made it back to Horizon, we would have picked you up there. If not, we would have found you here.

"But once we got everyone on the ship, Cap got nervous. She felt we'd be too far away if you needed help and we were in the Teal system. So we changed course for Lylas, where we picked up a cover cargo for Gauda Prime. And here we are. Our next stop is UP Teal, unless you need to get to medical treatment sooner, Avon."

"I'm fine."

"Uh-huh. Well, I hope between you, Vila, Dayna, and Task, two of you are good at communications and navigation. I have a feeling the Devrils and the Brins are going to opt to stay in UP Teal."

"As they should," Avon said. "Tracking down Jenna's mysterious enemy will get too dangerous for families, particularly the children."

"And you have other activities planned as well, don't you, Avon?" Tarrant said with certainty.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Avon, I know you. You're not going to retire to a lazy little backwater and eke out a living doing computer programming. Not when you have Orac and Vila to help you. You couldn't stand the boredom."

Using his newly acquired peacemaking skills, Task interrupted the threatened argument. "I can help with communications. After you've had to take over for adolescent officers who've gotten themselves killed or otherwise put out of action—the Academy apparently doesn't teach them how to duck—you get very good with communications. No offense meant, Tarrant."

"None taken. The FSA _doesn't _teach you to duck. It's something you learn on the job."

* * *

Avon leaned back against the flyer beside Tarrant. They were waiting for their "escort" and Task, who the hotel management was convinced was a bodyguard hired by Dase's company to make sure their potential business partners didn't get waylaid by some unemployed bounty hunters. Both had enjoyed playing their roles. Dase, tottering around in absurdly high heels and a very short skirt, had centred her attentions on Avon whenever other people were around, convincing management that Avon was the money man. Task had enjoyed darting his eyes about and generally looking dangerous, his hand frequently hovering near a suspicious bulge under his jacket. Tarrant had performed well as the vacuous assistant, probably Avon's otherwise unemployable nephew. And Avon—well, he was doing what he always did naturally: looking arrogant and expecting to be waited on and deferred to. 

"Did you know Dase is General Wrell's daughter?" Avon asked.

"Yes, and it caused me a few sweaty moments. I was frantically searching my memory for any derogatory remarks I may have made about him," Tarrant answered.

"You met him on Horizon?"

"No, I heard about him before I left the Federation."

"He doesn't strike me as a very competent commander for Avalon."

"He's not; he never had any combat experience. I heard his rise through the ranks was largely due to his wife's influence. Apparently she was someone important. But he didn't have any talent for warfare, so he wound up organizing supply lines. He _did _have talent for that. Still, he was what the field officers referred to as an R-E-M-F."

"R-E-M-F?"

"Rear echelon mother f—"

"Miss Dahl! Mr. Wells! Over here!" Avon waved.

"—faker," Tarrant amended hastily.

Task and Dase arrived, Task carrying their bags. "Sorry it took so long," Dase apologized. "Something was wrong with the water in my room, and I had to brush my teeth in your room. What's with the over bright lights in there? Nobody looks good with _that _much light. Makes you want to smear lubricant all over the mirror to soften the image."

"I think I've got spots permanently burned into my retinas," Avon agreed, shooting a look at his "nephew." "Tarrant forgot to shut the bathroom door before turning on the lights last night."

Task wondered who had performed the role of peacemaker before he was assigned the duty. Once everybody got back together again for a while, it was going to be interesting to study the dynamics. He threw the bags in the speeder and asked, "Who's piloting first?"

"I am," Tarrant replied, getting into the operator's seat. "And Dase will navigate." He'd had several good looks at Avon's limp and noticed the severity was directly proportional to his energy levels. He wanted Avon rested as much as possible.

Avon assisted the tottering Dase into the flyer. "Put us down about four hours from now, and we'll change into mission gear. Did Task explain the restrictions on food and drink?" he asked Dase and Tarrant.

"Yes," Dase answered. "Nothing that has an odour unless we're prepared to leave immediately. Don't worry; we've got plenty of concentrate cubes."

"Yum yum," Tarrant smacked his lips. "Now you know why I ate so much at breakfast."

* * *

"Heard anything, Vila?" Jenna asked as she stepped into his cabin. 

"Just that they've left the hotel and didn't have any problems. I should have gone with them," he added miserably.

"They'll be fine. You couldn't have added anything. _I_ couldn't have added anything either," she said ruefully. "Avon was right to make us stay here, but it's not easy being out of the action."

"Yeah, you always did enjoy the action stuff back on the _Liberator_. I hated it, and now I want in on it. I must be getting senile."

"I think maybe we just go through phases, Vila. After cutting my ties with Blake, I just wanted to stay away from action. Now I find I'm ready for it. Maybe it's because I've met up with you and Avon again. You know: old times."

"What _did _happen between you and Blake? I mean, why did you quit his organization?"

Jenna smiled, "Nothing ever _happened _between us, Vila. As for working with him, I started noticing that some of the rebels he 'helped' got captured by the Feds immediately after he helped them. And he always seemed flush with funds when that happened. I told myself it was someone in his organization." She looked thoughtful. "But now that you bring it up, Blake actually started making overtures to me about that time. I guess he realized I was getting uneasy and was stringing me along. Dayna thinks I was next on the list. If I hadn't been so nervous, I might have fallen for it."

Vila shuddered. It was awful to think that someone they'd lived so close to for so long could blithely sell them to the Federation. He knew Blake had never really considered Vila a friend, but still you don't sell out your mates—especially not Avon and Jenna, who were the closest to him. "When do you think he began acting against us, Jenna?"

"I don't know. Every time I try to figure it out, my mind just goes around in circles. It must have happened very gradually. Maybe it's easier to work it backwards. I _do _believe if the Andromedan War hadn't intervened he would certainly have turned us over to the Federation about that time. And I think he was actually on Terminal too."

"But Servalan said that was just an illusion made up to convince Avon."

"Do you really think Avon could have been taken in by an illusion, a machine-induced dream of Blake?"

Vila considered. "No, I don't think they could have gotten all the details right enough that Avon wouldn't have spotted something, even exhausted as he was. Avon's always been good with details and remembering things."

"Of course he is; he's got an eidetic memory."

"A what?"

"Eidetic memory. He remembers everything—literally. It's rare, but some people are like that. I think it's because they utilize more of their brain capacity than everyone else. Eidetic people really _do _remember everything, accurately too."

_Oh, that was why . . . _Vila realized. "Jenna, now I know why he nearly fell apart when he learned there were some things he remembered so wrongly," Vila said.

"What things? What are you talking about?"

"He completely misremembered some things that happened to us in the last couple of years. I kept telling him it was nothing, that people do it all the time, even him. But _he _doesn't forget, does he?"

"No, he doesn't. It must have been terrifying for him, like losing his mind. That's probably what he fears most: losing his intellect. What in the world could have caused it?"

Vila thought hard. Avon had told him something about it, something to do with Doctor Naylor. It was right after Vila corrected him about the events at Malodar. "I think he said Doctor Naylor told him he'd been under too much stress, that the drugs Servalan gave him had messed him up, and that he'd been hit on the head too many times. Well, and I guess killing Blake didn't help either."

"Hit on the head? When did that happen?"

"When didn't it? I think he became a magnet for it. Seems like hardly a month went by without someone or something knocking him silly. Do you think he's permanently damaged, Jenna?" Vila looked horrified.

"Let's hope not. He'd certainly be aware of it, and that would be terrible."

"Now I'm _sure _I should have gone with him. I've been telling him he can't take care of himself. If he'd listened to me all along, he wouldn't have been hurt so many times."

"Maybe he just wanted to be sure _you _didn't get hurt. Come to think of it, that's not really like Avon, not the way he used to be," Jenna said thoughtfully.

"He's been awfully nice to me. And did you see him shaking Tarrant's hand? In the past he would have been shaking Tarrant's _neck_."

"I didn't know Tarrant before. Did he need his neck shaken?"

"Yes. He was an arrogant, snotnosed bastard."

"That's what you call Avon."

"Oh, do I? I guess I do. Tarrant seems to have changed too. _Every_body seems to have changed." He shook his head. "I can't figure it out."

"Maybe we're all growing up, Vila. Maybe there's nothing to figure out."

* * *

As soon as the flyer landed, Dase tottered several paces away and removed the offending shoes. She threw them as far as she could. 

Task observed, "You might need those if we go back to the hotel."

"They were killing my toes. I've got other shoes—sensible shoes—if I need them.

"They might not fit your 'business perks' image."

"No-one will notice; I'll just drape myself all over Avon. They won't be looking at my feet." She winked at Avon, "As long as you play your part."

Avon couldn't suppress a slight smile. "I think I can play my part. But I don't know what you are complaining about. Servalan _always _wore shoes like that."

"Crazy woman," Dase pronounced.

Tarrant joined them, looking at a pocket comp and pressing buttons with his thumb. "We saved a lot of time with this flyer, and since we've overflown part of the projected crash site already, we may find the _Scorpio _in the next couple of hours. I haven't seen anything familiar yet, though."

"It's all forest," Avon said.

"But to a pilot there would be differences. Besides, there has to be debris along the crash path: downed trees, that sort of thing."

"Maybe we can get started on the salvage today," Dase suggested eagerly. "Let's get changed." She padded barefoot back to the flyer and bent over to reach inside, pulling out bags. Behind her, three male faces displayed appreciation for her short skirt.

Twisting around, Dase studied the men for a moment and carried her bag around to the other side of the flyer. She peeked over the top, "Gentlemen?" The smiles were replaced by disappointment, and the men turned their backs to the flyer as they began changing.

After a couple of minutes, Dase called out, "Are you decent?"

"Not yet!" Tarrant shouted as he remembered the worn state of his underwear and tripped over the legs of his flightsuit in panic.

"And men always accuse women of taking too much time," Dase replied.

Avon and Task finished dressing quickly and reached to steady Tarrant as he struggled with his flightsuit. "Almost done!" he called out. He thought he heard snickering from the other side of the flyer. "Okay, you can come out now!"

Dase's expression was suspiciously innocent as she joined them. "Let's break out the concentrates and stop wasting time, shall we?"

* * *

"I don't see any movement, do you?" Avon asked Task. 

"No, not a thing. Let me circle the wreck. If everything looks good, I'll go inside to make sure."

After several minutes Task's voice came through Avon's commlink, "No-one around and no-one's been here for a long time, if at all. Come on in, but be careful of your footing."

Avon joined him just inside the wreck and looked around to get oriented. "The drive chamber will be through there. Let's see if we can get that door open." Together they pushed at the door until it slid far enough into its pocket to let them squeeze through. They proceeded down the corridor, arms outstretched to the walls to help them balance on the sloping deck.

When they reached the door to the drive chamber, they were unable to get enough purchase to force it open. "We'll need to cut this open. Dase has cutting tools in her bag," Task suggested.

"You call her to come in. I may be able to locate _Scorpio's _cutting tools. They'll be faster." As Task raised his commlink, Avon worked his way carefully down the passage. He found the storage compartment that held cutting tools. Fortunately the door swung open fairly easily. Even more fortunately the cutting tools were still there, in a jumbled heap on the floor. He selected the largest and started picking his way back, leaning heavily against the wall on the down sloping side of the corridor.

"Here, let me take that," Task lifted the heavy tool from Avon's arms. "Dase is on her way in. Does this need to be levelled?"

"No, only steadied." Avon knelt to extend the base and detach the eye protection. "You turn away while I do this." He pulled the shield over his eyes and started the cutting beam.

Dase joined them, pinching her nostrils shut with her fingers. "Nice that the glycolene tanks ruptured." She quickly turned away from the cutting beam.

"It's pretty foul," Task agreed, "but it won't harm you."

"Speak for yourself. I think my sense of smell is destroyed. That odour will permeate our clothing and hair," she reminded him.

"No problem. You'll stop smelling it after a while," he assured her.

"But will I ever be able to smell anything again? I followed your voices. Is everything okay?" she asked.

"We haven't seen evidence of anyone else," Task answered. "The cutting tool was easy enough to get to. I don't think anyone has been here, or they would have taken the tools."

"Let's hope the stardrive is intact."

Avon switched off the beam. "I've cut some handholds. Let's see if we can force this door back instead of taking time to cut through it." He shifted the cutter out of the way, and Task joined him at the door. They threw their weight behind it, and the door began inching open. Dase sat down near it and began pushing at it with her feet.

After a few moments, Avon stopped and straightened. "That's enough. The stardrive is smaller than we are; it'll fit through the door." He squeezed inside, followed by Dase and Task.

It looked better than he expected, but that made sense. The components in the drive chamber were more firmly affixed to the structure than nonessentials like partitions and seating. And the chamber itself was largely a thick walled, seamless box. Otherwise, stress from the drives would shake it apart. The stardrive wasn't where Avon expected, and he looked instinctively towards the old patch in the hull. It had held, and he didn't see any other breaches.

"It's come loose, but it was never an integral part of the fittings. Look for a rectangular box about this long." He held his palms apart to demonstrate. "It should still be more or less white since nothing appears to have burned in here." _Except for Doctor Plaxton_, he thought grimly, then shoved that picture aside. _Another person who didn't survive contact with Kerr Avon_.

"Is this it?" Task called. "Look in under here. Do you see it?"

Avon lay on the deck to peer underneath one of the huge induction tubes. "Yes, that's it. I can't reach it though." He tried to squirm under the tube. "I'm too big. Dase, do you think you can get to it?"

"I'll try." She lay down and begin squeezing under the tube. "I can reach it. There's some sort of handle here. Is it all right if I pull on that?"

"Yes, but it's heavier than you'd expect. You may not be able to pull it out from that position."

"No, I can't. I think it's wedged in. I've got a grip with both hands though. Grab my legs and pull . . . Harder! I think it's coming."

Task and Avon pulled Dase all the way out. She let go the stardrive and sat up, shaking her arms. "I think my arms are two inches longer." She twisted around to look at her treasure. "Does it look intact?"

Avon examined the stardrive. "The casing is intact. Things may have been tumbled around inside though, and the connections have been broken. I guess that saves time disconnecting them."

"I wasn't going to disconnect them." Dase countered. Avon looked puzzled. "Why bother disconnecting them? I was going to cut them off several inches from the sockets and leave the connections intact for study. Connection to the _Lady's _engines may take a lot longer without the leads to identify the sockets, I'm afraid."

She stood and wiped her hands on her flightsuit legs. "Oh, well, there's nothing for it, I suppose. Do you want to take this back to the flyer, leave it here, or hide it in the woods until we're ready to leave?"

"We'll hide it in the woods until we're ready to leave," Avon answered. "It's going to be dark soon, and I don't want to risk someone spotting our lights."

"Let's get back to Tarrant then. He was itching so badly to come with me he may have leapt out of his skin by now," Dase said.

"You contact him and tell him we're returning to the flyer. We'll find something to wrap this in and hide it under one of those fallen trees outside."

"I don't suppose there's a chance we could sleep in here somewhere, or possibly the flyer?" Dase asked hopefully.

"Too dangerous," Avon explained. "The 'predators' around here use tracers to look for heat sources and large metal objects. We'll each find a nice fallen tree to sleep under."

Dase groaned, "Lovely. Bugs and rotting leaves; I can hardly wait. You owe me, Avon."

He grinned smarmily, "You wanted to come, _Wendy_."

* * *

Task was standing watch when he heard a faint scuffling noise from Dase's shelter. He quietly slid down from his tree perch and knelt close to the opening of the survival blanket "tent." "Dase," he whispered, "are you all right?" 

"No," she answered in a hiss. "Something crawled inside my flightsuit."

"Do you need help?"

"No, it's dead now. Yuck! It's all wet and slimy."

"Are you itching or burning?"

"No, should I be?"

"If you're not in discomfort, I'll take a look at it in the morning."

"Oh, really?" she whispered dryly.

"I'm a nurse. Remember?"

"Oh, sorry. I guess that's all right then. No, I'm okay. It's just cold and disgusting."

"Let me know if anything changes."

"All right. Good night—I guess."

As Task climbed back up on his perch, he heard, "I'll get you for this, Avon."

* * *

It was Tarrant's watch when he heard Avon beginning to snore. He wanted to ignore it but decided if he could hear it, so could everyone else. And he was right: it had awakened Task. Kneeling quietly beside Avon's shelter, Tarrant put his gun down and poked his head and shoulders inside. 

"Avon?" he whispered. The snoring increased.

Straining to hold his unsupported torso off the ground, he shook Avon's shoulder. "Avon? Roll over, you're snoring." He shook him again.

Avon suddenly rolled over, smacking Tarrant in the eye. Tarrant jerked his head up and hit a small, protruding branch, straining his back at the same time. "Ow!" he hissed. Annoyingly, Avon was still sound asleep.

As Tarrant backed out of the shelter and retrieved his gun, Task heard, "I'll get you for this, Avon."

* * *

Avon felt remarkably rested when he crawled out of his shelter in the morning. Dase and Task were emerging too, he saw. Tarrant joined them. For some reason, Tarrant was slightly bent over. All of them were looking at Avon, and Dase and Tarrant were glaring at him. "What?" Avon asked innocently. Tarrant was rubbing at the top of his head. Avon peered at him. "Is that a black eye?" 

Dase was plucking at the back of her flightsuit. "Task, it's starting to itch."

"All right. Let me get some things from our supplies." He pulled a small medical kit from a knapsack. "Drop the top of your flightsuit." Dase glared at Avon and Tarrant. "Gentlemen?" Task mimed turning around.

"Oh," Avon acknowledged. He and Tarrant turned and stood in silence, listening to the sounds of Task ministering to Dase. After a few minutes, Avon offered, "The leaves are very green this morning."

"Yes, and the trunks are very brown," Tarrant agreed.

"It looks like it's going to be a dry day."

"Yes, it does. The clouds are very white." Tarrant listened to Dase's 'ouches' for a moment. Both men wanted very badly to look. "What happened to Dase?" Tarrant asked.

"I don't know. Some sort of rash, I guess."

"Oh."

"What happened to your eye?" Avon asked.

"You hit me."

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I tried to wake you up when you were snoring. You hit me."

"I don't snore," Avon insisted firmly.

"With a beak like that? How could you not?"

"What happened to your head?"

"I hit it when you hit me."

"And your back?"

"Same reason."

"Oh." Avon listened to Dase asking Task if he could clean 'muck' from the inside of her flightsuit. He really, really wanted to look. "Maybe you should ask Task to check you too."

"Probably a good idea."

They heard the sound of a zip and Dase saying, "No, thanks, Task. I don't want to view the remains."

"It's all right to turn around now, gentlemen," Task announced. "Tarrant, let me take a look at you." He looked critically at Tarrant's eye and opened a tube of something. Smearing it gently over the blackened bruise under Tarrant's eye, he said, "This will reduce the pain and the swelling. Let me see your head." He peered at it and opened an antiseptic towel packet. He dabbed at Tarrant's wound. "Messy. I'll clean it up and cover it. I won't shave it—"

"I hope not!"

"Unless the bandage won't stay. Hold still."

"Ouch!"

"That'll do for now." Task turned expectantly towards Avon.

"I'm fine," Avon said.

Task glanced at Dase, who was holding her flightsuit away from her back, and Tarrant, who was gingerly fingering the patch on his head. "Give it a few minutes."

* * *

"I heard from Task," Vila called out to Dayna as she passed his doorway. 

"What did he say?"

"They found the wreck, and they're working on the salvage. They don't think anyone else has been there, and no-one's bothered them."

"Good! Maybe they can get finished quickly and get back sooner."

"I hope everyone's all right. Task didn't say."

"I'm sure he would have said something if they weren't."

"I should have gone with them."

"I'm glad you didn't." Dayna squeezed Vila's arm. "I'll go tell the others what's happening. Cheer up, Vila. They'll be back soon."

"Yeah," he mumbled at her retreating back, "Whenever someone tells me to 'cheer up,' it means things are going to get worse."

* * *

"Oh, my! The glycolene smells worse this morning," Dase said as she and Avon carefully cleared a path across what had been the _Scorpio's _flightdeck. "This could take hours," she warned as she began picking through debris near the teleport system. "I wish I knew what I was looking for." 

"Just sort out anything that doesn't look like a common structural component, and I'll see if it's part of the teleport. In particular, look for any crystals. They're difficult to obtain and necessary to focus the beam. Oh, and anything that looks like you could wear it on your wrist. We were relieved of our teleport bracelets at some point when we were rescued from Blake's base a few weeks ago."

"That's interesting. Who had the sticky fingers, I wonder: undercover agents or Avalon's people?"

"Yes, I thought it was interesting too." Avon began pulling circuit boards out of Slave's housing, looking at them and pitching them away. "Ah!" He peered at a couple of circuit boards and pocketed them. "That should be enough. I'm going to try to find Gambit's circuit board, then I'll be back to help you."

Dase cleared out an area to hold her finds: one side for certainties, and the other for possibilities. The rejects she flung into one of the sleeping bays. She spotted a glint and reached down in the debris to pull it out. It was definitely a crystal, but an unusual shape. She pocketed it; time enough to study it later. Digging in the debris again, she was glad she'd brought thin gloves: rodents had left a mess.

Avon stepped carefully over components from the tiny galley that had taken up an alcove in the wall near the head. Count on Vila to tuck his prize away in a place no-one would want to look: the recycling unit for waste disposal. He knelt in front of the small maintenance hatch and opened it. Shining a pocket light around in the cavity, he was grateful the tank hadn't ruptured. He was rewarded with a flash of reflected light: Gambit's circuit board. He pulled it out and glanced over it. It had a few nicks and scrapes, but the circuits themselves appeared unharmed. Putting it in his pocket, he looked around for a bag of some sort. Ah, medical supplies. He dumped out supplies that were possibly contaminated or otherwise doubtful and put the circuit boards inside. Now there were just a few more things to look for.

* * *

It was two hours before Avon rejoined Dase. She had filled one sleeping bay with rejects and was working on a second. The "certainties" heap wasn't very large, but the "possibilities" heap was. "Oh, Avon, good." She reached into her pockets and displayed her most important finds. "I've found two crystals and a bracelet." 

Avon smiled with satisfaction. "Better than I'd expected." He pocketed the crystals and put the teleport bracelet in the bag. "What else have you got?"

She indicated the smaller heap, "That pile is things I'm fairly certain belong to the teleport. The other is things I just don't know about. I think we should take the little pile with us and look at it later. Why don't you look at the bigger pile? If I've made any judgement errors, correct me. I'll keep looking."

Avon sorted through the larger heap for a while but didn't find anything belonging to the teleport. He glanced briefly through the smaller heap, throwing out one or two things, but most of it belonged to the teleport. He scooped those pieces into a second bag he'd salvaged. "I think we've found enough. Let's get Task and get out of here. Suddenly I'm not very comfortable."

Dase rose and checked her gun, "You think there's someone around?"

"Nothing concrete, but I'd like to get away from here." They began picking their way to a breach and found Task approaching them.

"I think we should get out of here, Avon. I'm getting uneasy," he said.

"Birds," Dase said. "I can't hear any birds."

Avon thrust his bags at Dase and told her, "Hide this with the stardrive, then find another fallen trunk to hide yourself under. Task and I are going after Tarrant. Have you got your commlink?"

"Yes." She sprinted towards the hiding place, several yards away.

"We'll approach Tarrant's position from the sides," Task said, studying Tarrant's indicator on his pocket comp. Avon nodded and moved off.

* * *

Tarrant had been working a large circle around the wreck site as quietly as he could, pausing to listen carefully from time to time. The experience was getting old, and his back was aching. He hadn't heard anything but birds and the occasional rustling of small animals—very small, to judge from the sound. At first he wondered if any of the evicted farmers' animals had escaped and become feral in the woods; he had read about things like that in books. Pigs were supposed to be very dangerous; they were more intelligent than most animals. He had no idea what a pig would look or sound like. Hopefully they didn't sound like birds. 

With Dayna's scatter gun always in his hand, it was difficult scrambling over the odd fallen tree. Once again, he thought about how he needed a prosthetic arm. It wouldn't be the same as his own arm, he thought with regret. It wouldn't have sensation, and it probably wouldn't be capable of the same delicacy of movement. He wondered if he would always have to watch it and visually guide it to a goal, or if movement would become instinctive again.

Of course it wouldn't look like a real arm either. Oh, it would have the same general shape and size, but it would probably be constructed of some sort of white, impact-resistant plastic. Maybe they could match your skin colour, or perhaps it would have some sort of glove that covered the hand.

And what would a lover think about it? Would his touch be repulsive? Would it be cold and hard, incapable of delicacy?

With the backing of Space Command and their resources, Travis had a laseron weapon implanted in his arm. Vila had told him about it. That would be useful but completely out of reach for someone like Tarrant. Even a prosthesis that did nothing more than provide a useful grip might be out of his reach. How much would an arm like that cost? What about finding a surgeon? A hospital? Captain Stannis couldn't afford to pay him much. What were his chances of saving enough money? Come to that, he still owed Dase for his boots. He looked down at them ruefully.

He sat down on a fallen tree, putting down his gun to thumb open the cap on his water bottle. Even that was a difficulty: he could only do one thing at a time. Avon hadn't trusted his abilities enough to let him help with the salvaging; and he was right. What could Tarrant have done with one hand? Avon was probably afraid Tarrant would hurt himself, thereby depleting their resources and using up valuable salvage time.

He put the bottle down to take out his pocket comp, punching up maps with his thumb. Might as well familiarise himself with their location, he thought for the hundredth time.

Had Tarrant not been so immersed in his brown studies, he would have noticed the complete absence of animal sounds, something completely unnatural . . .

* * *

Avon slipped quietly through the woods for several minutes until he could hear faint voices. Drawing nearer, he listened intently. He heard Tarrant saying, "Look, friend, I told you I'm not a bounty hunter or road agent. Do I look like one?" 

"Whoever you are, you don't belong here. This is my land," a strange voice answered.

A second strange voice added, "And if you're not a bounty hunter or road agent, that just leaves mining company geologist. That's no better."

"We happen to think it is," Task's voice challenged. He stepped into their view and moved to stand beside Tarrant, both hands in the air. Tarrant glanced at Task quickly and saw a handgun tucked into the back of his belt. He could reach it if he had to. Task had positioned himself with that in mind. "And the Company's going to be very unhappy about this, not to mention local law enforcement," Task finished.

"Is this the whole survey team then?" the first man asked.

"Not quite," Avon said from behind him. "Don't move! Put your guns down slowly, gentlemen." Tarrant picked up his gun while Task backpedalled to the tree that hid his rifle.

Avon moved fully into the strangers' view, still holding his rifle pointed at them. "Keep our friends covered while I call Company Central." He pulled out his commlink and keyed in Dase's linkcode with his thumb, "Ryder to Central."

"Central here," Dase's voice responded.

"We've had a little trouble out here." He carelessly let his rifle barrel swing down. "Two of the locals—"

The 'locals' recognised opportunity and grabbed it. Abandoning their guns, they ran as fast as they could. Avon could hear them crashing through undergrowth for quite some distance.

"Right," he said, leaving the commlink open for Dase to hear. "Let's get the salvage and get out of here."

"Avon," Tarrant began.

"Forget it. It could have happened to any of us. I'm just glad you're all right."

* * *

Avon scrambled out from under the flyer's control panel."It would seem that our local friends were very busy before they found you, Tarrant. They got the steering gyros. This flyer is going nowhere." 

Dase wriggled out from the other side. "Somehow that fits nicely with marauding bugs and homicidal tree branches. Hope it breaks on them while they're using it."

"Without the seats it wouldn't have been a very comfortable ride anyway," Tarrant added. "I guess there's nothing for it but to contact the _Lady _and see if they can mount a rescue party."

"But not today," Task warned.

"He's right," Avon agreed. "It will be dark before they could pick us up and get back to the ship, and this planet is particularly unhealthy in the dark. We'll let them know what's happened, and they can come for us tomorrow."

Dase began poking around in the back of flyer. "Nope, nothing that could be used as ground cover."

"Anything else?" Tarrant asked.

"Not unless you want the maps of the local shopping attractions and restaurants." She studied a brochure briefly. "Nice. They've got a mining museum. Bet it doesn't have dioramas showing how they murdered the farmers for their land."

Avon was playing around with his pocket comp. "The _Scorpio _is that way," he pointed, then shifted about thirty degrees, "and our friends went that way. That's lucky. We can go in that direction," he pointed away from the _Scorpio_, "and get as far away from both as possible and still be getting closer to Briggston. That should save time tomorrow." He knelt beside his bag and began throwing toiletries and other personal items out of it. "The rest of you throw out your nonessentials. We'll make it look like we were robbed and taken away."

"I wonder why our 'friends' haven't looted the _Scorpio_?" Tarrant asked.

Avon suggested, "Probably waiting for the glycolene odour to dissipate."

"I wish them the joy of it," Dase said.

Avon picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Let's get going. Spread out a little. Dase, you walk with me."

When Tarrant and Task had gotten a little ahead of them, Avon murmured to Dase, "I'm sorry about your back. If you like, you can share my shelter and use yours as a ground cover. I promise I won't disturb you, except," he smiled briefly, "Tarrant pretends I snore; I don't know why."

Dase smiled back at him. "Thanks, Avon, I appreciate that. And don't worry, I won't 'disturb' you either," she promised.

* * *

It was a good plan too, Tarrant admitted during his watch. Anytime Avon snored, a rustling sound came from his shelter—the sound of someone rolling over—or being pushed over—and all was quiet again.

* * *

"You see? I told you I should have gone with them," Vila insisted to Dayna. "Avon can't take care of himself." 

"I don't think it's a matter of Avon being helpless, Vila. It was bad luck for all of them," Dayna countered. She checked the charge on the next gun. "We'll get them back all right; you'll see."

"Oh, yeah? If they'd had me, no-one would have been able to strip the flyer."

"What? You would have stayed behind to guard it? Yes, I guess that would have been a good idea." She handed him another gun to check.

"No, I would have rigged it so anyone tampering with it would have been stunned—or worse. And besides, Tarrant isn't exactly combat ready, if you know what I mean." He set aside the gun he'd just double checked and picked up the next.

"Tarrant does okay, considering he's had to learn to use his left arm for everything. He doesn't get into any trouble, and besides, he knows when to ask for help."

"That's fine on the ship, Dayna, but what about in a fight?"

"I guess you're right, but he hasn't said anything about a prosthetic arm. At least not to me. It must be very expensive to get something really useful. Where would we go for that?"

"Not Teal, I guess. They may decide he should be their First Champion again, arm or no arm. And not anywhere in the Federation. It'll have to be somewhere where we can spend a lot of time safely."

"How much time? Why?"

"Think about it, Dayna. There'll be operations to the amputation site, recovery time, rehabilitation time . . . We can't just bung him into a hospital and say, 'See you later'."

"Oh." Dayna thought about it. "Somebody—a 'family member?'—will have to stay with him. And somebody will have to come up with a lot of money, I suppose."

"Avon can get the money, and Orac can probably find a good surgeon wherever we decide to go. I guess Avon would be the best choice to stay with Tarrant; he's the trickiest."

"That's very good, Vila."

"What? That Avon's tricky? Everybody knows that."

"No, I mean about Orac. Maybe we could get him started working on a list of facilities and surgeons."

"Yeah," he smiled. "Orac?"

"Yes, Vila?"

"You're been listening to what we've been saying about Tarrant?"

"Of course, it is one of my responsibilities to—"

"Yes, fine. Can you work on that list of facilities and surgeons? In your spare time, I mean; your first priority is still to stay in contact with the others."

Orac sounded slightly offended, "I am well aware of my priorities. I can work on both activities at the same time. Do you wish me to discuss my progress with Tarrant?"

"No, I think we'd better keep this between ourselves for the time being. Tarrant might not appreciate our tinkering with his life without asking him first."

"Tinkering with whose life?" Jenna asked as she stepped through the door, wiping her hands on a cloth. "The speeder's nearly ready to go. Whose life?"

Orac answered first. "Tarrant's life."

Vila looked disgusted. "That's really good, Orac. I thought I just told you to keep this between the three of us."

"You did not specify who was to know about this activity except to say Tarrant was not. If you cannot be more specific, I cannot be held responsible."

Jenna looked from Orac to Vila. "What about Tarrant?"

"I cannot say," Orac answered. Dayna rolled her eyes and exchanged a look with Vila.

"You can talk about it with Jenna _now_, Plastic Brain," Vila said. "_You've already told her._" He turned to Jenna. "We asked Orac to start compiling a list of suitable facilities and surgeons to fit Tarrant with a prosthetic arm."

"You're right, Vila, he might not appreciate the tinkering if you haven't asked him first. But I understand," Jenna said. "We'd all like Tarrant to be whole again. He's going to need two arms if he's to be good enough to take a ship through combat manoeuvres, and I have a feeling he'll be needing to do that eventually."

"Why do you say that, Jenna?" Dayna asked.

"Because I don't believe he'll be able to settle for a quiet life. He's too much like Avon."

Vila looked thoughtful. "Yeah, you're right, Jenna. Tarrant's not safe on his own either. It was hard enough to nursemaid _one _of them, let alone _two_," he finished with resignation.


	12. Chapter 12

The Way Forward

by Baker Lutgens

Part 12 of 12

"You're not going, Dayna. That's final," Vila said. "There's not enough room. We'll be crowded enough with the six of us in there."

"Then stay behind and let me go. You know I'm the best shot."

"The best shot isn't what we need this time. We need the best pilot and the best navigator. You know I'm better at those things than you are."

"Dev's the best at navigation. Maybe he should go."

"He's got a family; I don't. Let me do this my way, okay, Dayna?" He smiled placatingly, "Besides, we need you to stay here and keep an eye on Orac. You know how unreliable he is."

"I am _not _unreliable—" Orac interrupted.

"Shut up, Orac. Remember our discussion right after we rescued you?" Orac remained silent. "I thought so," Vila concluded. "It'll be all right, Dayna. It shouldn't take us more than a day, and we'll stay in contact." He finished fastening his gun belt as Jenna joined them in the tiny workroom. "Hello, Jenna, just let me grab a couple of things, and I'll be ready to go. Be right back."

"That's been an interesting change," Jenna remarked to Dayna. "Vila never fussed over Avon in the early days."

"They stick together like glue now; that's why it's been so hard for Vila to sit here waiting for him to come back."

"Avon grows on you. When I first met him, I wouldn't have given two credits for him. He was completely self-contained and contemptuous of everyone else in the galaxy; he was a snarling, sneering jerk." Jenna laughed, "I would have spaced him in an instant if we hadn't needed him. But after a couple of years, I found myself whining, 'Avon, take care,' and 'Avon, watch out for yourself.' He was still a snarling, sneering jerk, but I was enjoying it. What is it about the man that makes you want to strangle him and love him at the same time?"

"That's not how it was for me, but I saw that with Tarrant. He certainly wanted to strangle Avon, but in the end it was 'is Avon all right?' "

"And Cally?"

"Oh, they fought like cats and dogs at times, but they stuck together pretty much. If you paid attention, you could see that Avon always deferred to her in the end."

"Avon is always deferential to women. I wonder who we should thank for that? His mother or his father?"

Dayna considered. "Let's thank his mother this year, and his father next year."

"And how was it for you?"

Dayna smiled. "I _always _liked him, right from the start; I even flirted with him. He flirted with me too. But then Servalan killed my father, and somehow I felt different about Avon, more serious. That sounds funny, doesn't it?"

"I think I know what you mean. Avon became more important as a friend than a flirtation."

Dayna looked puzzled. "Yes, I guess that's it. My feelings changed in an instant. It still sounds funny, but I don't know how else to explain it."

_I do_, Jenna thought. _You needed a father, so he became one. Not the Avon I used to know, but I like this one even better._

Vila rushed into the room, wearing a knapsack. "I'm ready to go now, Jenna. Can we get started?"

"Not until Cully says the speeder's completely recharged. What have you got in there, Vila?" She lifted the knapsack's flap and peered inside.

"Just some supplies, nothing special."

"It's nearly all medical supplies, Vila. Nobody's been hurt."

"You know Avon. Remember when we had radiation poisoning?"

"Ah, yes. Avon was falling all over the flightdeck with dizzy spells while insisting there was nothing wrong with him," Jenna explained to Dayna.

"Sounds like Avon," Dayna agreed. "He could have an arrow through his chest and swear it was just mild indigestion. Lucky he's such a bad liar."

Jenna took Vila's arm. "Come on, Vila. We'll go to the hold. Cully's probably done with the recharging by now." She urged him out the door.

" 'Bye, Dayna," he said, "and look after Orac. We'll be back soon."

"Look after Avon," she replied, "and watch out for yourself."

* * *

Tarrant was walking with Dase in the morning. She wasn't sporting a black eye, but she didn't look well rested. 

"How did you sleep?" he asked conversationally. It was ill advised.

"Not well."

"Rash bothering you?"

"No."

They walked in silence for a while. Then he ventured, "Avon's snoring?"

"Partly."

Surely Avon hadn't engaged in unwelcome behaviour, but Tarrant was curious enough to ask, "What, then?"

"He's a restless sleeper. Rolls over a lot. Heavily."

"Squashed you?"

"Yes, but don't worry—_he_ slept through it all."

They walked in silence again. To lighten the mood, Tarrant observed cheerily, "We should meet up with Captain Stannis and Vila before noon."

"Good. I need a bath."

Blundering onwards, he said, "We could _all _do with a bath."

Dase looked sideways at him, through narrowed eyes.

Tarrant realized his error. "Well, not you of course. You smell fine. No, it's the rest of us that are beginning to get a little ripe. You hardly sm . . ." his voice trailed off.

"You're in a hole, Tarrant."

He stopped digging.

* * *

Task leaned a little toward Avon and lowered his voice, "What's up with Dase? Did she sleep badly?" 

"I can't see how. _I_ slept right through the night," Avon answered.

"How are you feeling?"

"Remarkably rested and fit considering I spent the night sleeping on the ground under a tree. The ground didn't seem quite so hard last night. But that's not my preferred venue."

"Yes, I think you're more the Briggston Arms type."

Avon smiled slightly, thinking of hot showers and breakfast in bed. "Maybe we should arrange another night or two there before we go. After all, no-one seems to have spotted any of us."

"We can't. It wouldn't square with the scene we left at the flyer. I'm certainly anxious to see the last of Gauda Prime. Pity about the mining companies. Had it stayed in the hands of the farmers, it probably could have resisted the Federation."

"Had it stayed in the hands of the farmers, the Federation wouldn't have been interested."

* * *

"Recovery Party to Salvage Party," Orac's voice issued from Avon's commlink. 

Avon keyed open the link. "That's very good, Orac," he said with a touch of sarcasm.

"I thought it prudent to be circumspect, under the present conditions."

"Present conditions?"

"If someone should overhear the conversation," Orac explained smugly. "I didn't wish to use real names. That would be too dangerous."

"If someone was close enough to hear you calling us, they would already have killed or robbed us—probably both."

Vila broke in, "I've always said Orac is thick, haven't I? Don't answer that Orac; you won't be helping yourself. And who asked you anyway? Avon? Jenna says we're very near you now. Can you hear us? I mean the speeder, that is."

"Hold on, Vila, we'll listen." Everyone was silent for a few moments, ears straining.

"There," Tarrant said and pointed. "I think I hear something in that direction."

"We hear you, Vila," Avon said. "But just to be cautious, we'll take cover. You continue to follow our signal, and when you see a clearing, land."

"Right. 'Recovery Party' out."

They scattered and ducked out of sight behind trees as the sound of the speeder came closer. Moments later, it came down where they had been standing. When it settled, Vila was first out. Crouching, he did a quick three-sixty, his gun ready.

"You don't need to impress the ladies, Vila," Avon advised. "You can't."

"Avon! Are we ever glad to see you! Is everyone all right?"

"Everyone's fine, Vila."

Jenna got out of the speeder. "Let's get everything loaded and get out of here. I don't like being out here, and I don't like leaving the _Lady _for so long, not on this planet. Tarrant! What happened to you?" She glanced disapprovingly at Avon.

Tarrant, still slightly bent over, touched the patch on his head and nodded in Avon's direction, "He did. He hit me."

"Avon!" Jenna exclaimed.

Before Avon could defend himself, Dase bent to set down the bag holding the teleport parts. A large, dark red stain showed on the back of her flightsuit.

"Dase!" Jenna said. "Are you all right? What happened?"

Dase pointed at Avon. "It's his fault."

Jenna turned and glared at Avon. "What have you been doing to my crew, Avon?"

"Later, Jenna," he said tiredly. "Let's just get out of here." As Jenna reluctantly turned back to the speeder, Avon focussed his own glare on Tarrant. Tarrant grinned triumphantly. Avon failed to notice the similar grin on Dase's face.

It took several minutes of packing and re-packing, but they squeezed the salvaged parts and what was left of their supplies in the back of the speeder. Then they squeezed themselves in. Built for four, it was overcrowded with six.

"We used to do this at the FSA," Tarrant said. "We got twenty people in one speeder."

"We got twenty-two," Dase said.

"Hollow boasting."

Dase stuck out her tongue at him.

_Twenty-two_? Avon thought. _Our record was nineteen. Of course, speeders were smaller then._

Jenna took the speeder up and turned back towards Briggston. "It'll take us about three hours to get back. I hope everybody went to the bathroom before we left."

Vila began hesitantly, "Jenna . . ."

"You'll have to hold it, Vila. We're getting out of here. No stops, no detours, and no arguments from you, Avon."

"Did I say anything?" he asked sweetly, assuming an uncharacteristic—and unbelievable—expression of innocence.

Jenna keyed the speeder commlink, "We're coming back now. Recovery complete. We'll be there in about three hours."

"We'll put the coffee on," Dayna's voice responded.

"Did you get everything you wanted, Avon?"

"Enough. The stardrive casing hasn't been breached. It may be largely intact. Dase and I can look at it when we get back to the ship—"

"AFTER I've had a bath," Dase corrected.

"After _all _of you have had baths," Vila added. He didn't earn any goodwill.

"Thank you, Vila," Avon said. "I am constantly amazed at your tact and gracious manners."

"Well, you'd have said the same thing in my place."

"Happily, I am not in your place. It would make me happier still to—"

"That's enough," Jenna silenced them. "Did you get anything from the teleport?"

"Quite a lot, actually," Avon replied. "We've got two of the crystals, a teleport bracelet, and most of the circuit boards and specialized components."

"Did you get anything from Slave and Gambit?" Orac's voice cut in.

"Yes, Orac. I got two circuit boards from Slave, and Gambit's circuit board."

"Thank you, Avon," Orac said. "How soon can I access them?"

"It shouldn't take long with Dase's help." Avon turned to look at Dase, who had fallen asleep on Task's shoulder. "She didn't get much sleep last night. I can't imagine why," he explained to Jenna.

"I can," Tarrant grinned at Jenna. "She shared a shelter with Avon."

The speeder jerked slightly, and Jenna looked at Avon speculatively.

"Shut up, Tarrant," Avon growled. "Let Jenna fly. I'll tell you about it later, Jenna."

"No, that's all right, Avon. You don't have to explain," Jenna said stiffly. _But you'd better, mister,_ she thought.

"You can explain to me, Avon. I'd like to hear about it," Vila urged.

"You would. I'll satisfy your prurient interests later," Avon answered.

* * *

Avon waited with Jenna while Task took Dase to the _Lady's _minuscule medical unit and Vila and Dayna took Tarrant away to rest. Then he took Jenna's arm and led her into her cabin, closing the door behind them. 

He handed her one of the small bags he'd brought from the _Scorpio_. "I brought this back for Dayna. She's sharing your cabin, isn't she?"

"Yes, what is it?" she said as she took the bag from him.

"Two of the multifunction guns we used after losing the _Liberator, _and some of the changeable clips for them. Ours disappeared during our rescue from Blake's base. She'll enjoy having them to work with. Perhaps she can duplicate them for us."

He reached into his pocket. "I have something for you too," he said, taking her hand and turning it palm up. Holding his closed fist over her open palm, he dropped a length of shiny, fluid, metal links into it.

Jenna gasped, "My necklace! I lost that on the _Liberator _when you put me in the life capsule! I thought it was gone forever!"

"I found it after I launched your capsule. I put it in my pocket."

"But how did you get it off the _Liberator_? I thought everything was lost."

"I took it with me when I went looking for Blake on Terminal. I thought you might be with him. It was on the _Scorpio _when we crashed. That was one of the things I wanted to salvage."

Jenna put it around her neck and fastened it. Then she rested her hand on it for a moment, enjoying the familiar feel of it. She let Avon hear the gratitude in her voice, "Thank you, Avon."

He smiled slightly, fleetingly, and left.

* * *

"Avon?" Vila had been looking for him; Task wanted him in the medical unit, and he wasn't in his cabin. Vila had checked his own cabin, in case Avon hadn't been sure which was assigned to him. There was something familiar on the bunk. Vila picked up a slim, metal, pocket-sized case and thumbed it open. Pictures of his mother and his sister. He'd never thought to see them again. He gazed lovingly at them. "Thank you, Avon," he whispered.

* * *

"You don't appear to have picked up any nasty bugs while we were out there, Avon," Task observed while studying the display on the _Lady's _portable med scanner. 

"Did anyone?" Vila asked, alarmed.

"No, everyone's fine."

"What about Dase?" Avon asked.

"She's fine too. That's just a skin irritation. Something in the creature she smashed was antagonistic to human skin. It's clearing up. It probably wasn't an insect though. It was likely something mammalian or reptilian, seeking warmth."

"The stain was too big for an insect," Avon observed.

"What about all that glycolene?" Vila asked. "It couldn't have been good for everyone to be inhaling that stuff."

"It can't hurt you," Task assured him. "It smells bad, probably tastes bad too, but it's harmless. You could bathe in it without any problems."

"I have done—once, a couple of years ago." He looked resentfully at Avon. "It felt harmful to me."

Avon explained, "It can't interact with human cells, Vila. The molecules twist the wrong way." He jerked involuntarily as Task applied an icy, cold patch to his chest and studied the display.

"Oh yes, I see," Vila answered, wondering just what the hell Avon was talking about. "At least everybody's okay then."

"I still have to take a look at Tarrant," Task corrected, "but there's no reason to believe there's anything wrong with him—other than the obvious injuries."

"Yes, about those injuries, Avon," Vila asked in his best and least believable nonchalant manner. "Did they have anything to do with Dase not getting enough sleep?" Vila asked.

"Nothing at all. Tarrant injured himself the first night when he was on watch. He _says _he was trying to stop my snoring. He's joking of course; I don't snore." He braced himself for the second frigid patch.

"Dase was so uncomfortable the first night, especially after her encounter with the local wildlife, that I suggested she share my shelter so she could use hers as groundcover. I slept through the night. I would have thought she had done so too; I wasn't aware of any sleeplessness on her part. Perhaps she just isn't the outdoor type, which demonstrates her good judgement. That should satisfy your lurid curiosity, Vila." He watched Task peel off the patches and replace them in the diagnostics box.

Disappointed, Vila said, "Tarrant made it sound much more interesting."

"He was teasing you, Vila, just as he's always done. That shouldn't surprise you any. Leopards don't change their spots. You haven't changed yours." Judging that Task must be finished torturing him, he stood up and resumed his shirt.

"What do you mean?"

Avon's face softened a little, "I mean he can always count on you to rise to his bait, Vila. Well, is that it, Task?"

"Yes, you're fine, except for your limp. I still want you to consult a doctor about that. Vila, would you go find Tarrant so I can take a look at him?" he asked.

Avon could hear Vila muttering to himself as he passed down the corridor. "A leopard, eh? Avon called me a leopard. Well, I guess I am," he told himself with pride.

* * *

Jenna joined Avon at his makeshift workbench. Parts were strewn over it in no order that Jenna could discern. 

"How's Tarrant?" he asked, holding two pieces together to test for fit.

"Task said it's just a muscle strain. He gave Tarrant something and sent him to lie down for a few hours. I left Dayna and Vila fussing over him."

"Vila fussing?"

"Yes. Why? Is that so unusual?"

"For Vila and Tarrant, yes. They haven't gotten on well in the past."

"Maybe they're growing up."

"Tarrant maybe, but Vila?"

"Task has certainly been helpful to have along. Pity we didn't have someone like him on the _Liberator_. A medical background and a military background; it could have saved us a lot of misery. Do you think he'll stay with us, or do we need to get him back to Avalon?"

"I believe he'll stay. I think he's lost his taste for full-time rebelling. He's said that much, but not anything about going anywhere else in particular."

Orac interrupted, "You have moved some of the components out of my view, Avon. Kindly readjust the camera lense."

Avon reached over to a small video pickup clipped to the edge of the workbench and adjusted it. "Can you see everything now, Orac?"

"Yes, thank you. Go on about your work."

"So how did it go down on the surface?" Jenna asked.

Avon put down a component and started examining another piece. "Really rather well. We found the _Scorpio _much more quickly than I had expected. Orac and Tarrant were quite right about it: it wasn't worth repairing. It wasn't a very good ship, not as good as this one, but you would have enjoyed having two ships at your disposal. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get it for you, Jenna."

"I'm not. Well, I would have liked having two ships, but I'd rather have all of you back."

Avon picked up another piece. "Sentiment is a weakness, Jenna."

"No, it's a strength. You know that."

He smiled. "We found the stardrive at the end of the first day. It had come loose and lodged under an induction tube. If that happened fairly soon, it might be largely unharmed. Dase and I can look at it tomorrow, when she's rested."

"Yes, about that . . ."

Avon smiled again. "It has to do with that large stain on her back. She wanted to spend the first night in the _Scorpio _or the flyer."

"Too dangerous."

"That's what I told her. Apparently something crawled inside her flightsuit while she was sleeping. She smashed it, but it couldn't have been very pleasant. The stain was too large for an insect. Probably a juvenile rodent of some sort." He looked up briefly, "But I don't think it would be helpful to tell her that."

He bent to his task again. "Ah!" Two pieces fitted together and he quick-glued them. "That won't hold for usage, but we'll be able to duplicate it now that we know the shape and dimensions." He set the pieces aside.

"Well?" Jenna encouraged.

"Well, what?"

"Go on. How was it your fault, and why couldn't she sleep?"

"I insisted on her sleeping under a fallen tree. It was for her own protection," he defended. "Task and Vila and I did that before. You use a survival blanket to make a sort of tent. Once you're inside, it masks your heat signature. Unfortunately we didn't have enough blankets to spare for ground cover. I gather there were a lot of decaying leaves and wildlife under the trunk. Whatever it was she crushed, it gave her a rash. Task treated it; she'll be fine." He played with some more broken pieces.

"I thought Tarrant said something about sharing a tent."

"I thought you said I needn't explain."

"My curiosity is killing me."

Avon smiled again. "Sorry."

Jenna watched him testing the fit of broken components for a while, then she started trying to piece some together. "Those won't fit together, Jenna," Orac offered.

"Thank you, Orac," Jenna said, not sounding as though she meant it. "What happened to Tarrant?"

"He claims I hit him while I was sleeping. He also claims I snore—"

Orac interrupted, "You _do _snore, Avon."

Avon looked at Orac resentfully. "Utter nonsense, of course. But he said when he straightened up, he hit his head on a broken branch and strained his back. I wouldn't know; I slept peacefully both nights."

"Going to take up camping as a recreational activity?"

"Hardly. I found the Briggston Arms much more agreeable."

"Well, you can't go back there. We'll be leaving as soon as the new cargo is delivered and loaded. That'll be today," Jenna said, picking up some different pieces to try.

"We can't go back under any circumstances now, not unless there's a complete change of management at the hotel. When we found the flyer stripped, we made it look as though we'd been waylaid. By the time the rental agent convinces the local constabulary to investigate, the site should be old enough that they'll have to believe we're dead somewhere. With the number of dead bodies that undoubtedly present themselves uninvited on Gauda Prime on any given day of the week, they probably won't even look for ours."

"Avon!" Vila burst through the doorway. "Oh, hello, Jenna, your new cargo's here. Avon, look what I found. This must have fallen out of the cargo Jenna delivered a couple of days ago." He offered a visdisc to Avon. "Look! It's the one you were watching at the hotel."

Avon snatched it from Vila and stuffed it in his pocket. "Thank you, Vila. I'll look at it later."

"What is it?" Jenna asked, interested.

"Nothing. Just a lecture on new programming techniques."

"Oh. Well, I'd better go supervise the cargo loading." Jenna put down her component pieces and stood up. "Why don't you try this for a while, Vila? You'll probably be better at this than I am." She disappeared in the direction of the hold.

Vila took her place and dug around in a pocket. "Look what else I found, Avon." He displayed a small, plastic box to Avon.

"What is it?"

"A mini-visdisc player. For—you know," he gestured at Avon's pocket. When Avon reached for the player, Vila snatched it back. "Me first, Avon. I'm the one who found them."

Avon smiled broadly and shook his head. "And what will you play in that device?"

"The visdisc in your . . ."

"_My _pocket, yes."

Vila smirked and said, "And how will you watch the disc without _my _player?"

"I'll get Orac to do it."

"Oh, yeah." Defeated, Vila handed the player to Avon. "Don't wear it out, all right?"

Avon stood, still smiling. "Thank you, Vila. I'll be in my cabin."

"Satisfying your prurient interests?" Vila called after him.

* * *

Carnell had arrived on Albion only the day before. Avalon's overcrowded evacuation ship had been boringly slow. _Everything _had been boring on that ship. There had been no-one to interview who could advance Carnell's goal of bringing down Servalan, and he had become uncharacteristically fidgety. 

He stood with his back to the door of his assigned quarters and studied the effect. The moveable partition just concealed his sleeping area. Of course anyone coming in would know his sleeping area was behind the partition, but Carnell wanted some part of his cramped quarters to remain private.

It was the best he could do for now. The Albions had offered Avalon usage of the deserted Federation base, and it wasn't very accommodating, not with so many evacuees to house. Later some of them would undoubtedly move in among the Albions. And some of them would abandon the Rebellion. Human nature. It was unreasonable to expect everyone to embrace the Rebellion as tenaciously as Avalon did. She was obsessed; most people weren't. Undoubtedly some of the Albions would join her. It was always the same. Most people came and went. Few people were as driven as Avalon—and Servalan.

They were much the same, those two. Both were accustomed to using deception and force to advance their ambitions. Avalon was less deadly of course, but just as driven as Servalan.

Both sought power. Avalon would be more benign than Servalan had been. She wouldn't compel people to do her will, not with brutality and cruelty anyway. And she hadn't yet risked anyone's life without their permission, but that would come eventually.

Both sought Orac and Avon. His genius would be essential to maintaining control of billions of people, scores of planets, an immense area of space. Avalon would be very careful with him, as careful as she knew how to be. But if she ever gained his assistance, she would have difficulty retaining it. She wouldn't understand him, and she would make a mistake. But it wouldn't be fatal for either of them. Servalan, on the other hand, might well kill him on impulse. She could never resist her impulses and usually gave free rein to her temper.

No matter. Carnell just needed Avon long enough to destroy Servalan. Which Avon would willingly do. It was just a matter of time and circumstance—circumstance that Carnell would endeavour to arrange.

The door announcer buzzed irritatingly. Carnell made a note to see if someone could reprogram it with a more pleasing sound. "Yes?" he responded.

"Graham Cauder here."

Carnell palmed open the door. "Come in, come in! It's a pleasure to meet you. Please sit." He offered the chair with its back to the door. They hadn't found a desk for him yet, and he was compelled to use a trick to put his visitors at a disadvantage. Avalon understood what he was doing and would decline to sit, but Cauder didn't know Carnell.

Cauder sat down, and Carnell took his own chair, the one carefully placed with a blank wall behind it so a visitor would be forced to concentrate on Carnell. "I understand Avalon explained the project I'm working on for her, did she not?"

"Yes, you're trying to locate Servalan. I'm not sure how I can help; I never had any contact with her. When we ejected the Federation, she wasn't yet the President."

"Your help would be of an indirect sort: helping me to understand what happened here during your fight with the Federation will advance my understanding of her personality and likely actions." _And my understanding of Avon_, he added privately. "The Federation kept control of Albion through extortion, didn't it?"

"That's an understatement. They planted a solium radiation bomb in one of the polar regions with the transmitter here on this base. We never really believed they would use it and were horrified to discover it had been activated as we were breaking in."

"A particularly vicious base commander."

"Yes, a Major Provine. He died here in the fighting."

"And how was the device disarmed?"

"That was Blake's people. A security expert named Vila broke into the safe and found the data card with the bomb's location. They decoded it back on their ship and discovered the bomb was located thousands of miles away. If not for their teleport, the technical expert, Avon, would not have gotten to it in time. He and a mercenary who had been helping us, Del Grant, went there and disabled the device."

Cauder added, "I've since heard about Blake's about-face, and I must say it surprises me. I saw nothing of that nature when he was here."

"We don't know exactly when it started," Carnell said, "but it was most likely later. When he was here, he was probably just what you thought him to be: a devoted rebel leader." _But probably not—you were lucky he decided to help rather than hinder_, Carnell thought. "What can you tell me about Kerr Avon? Servalan seems to have devoted a lot of her resources to trying to destroy him. Perhaps it would be helpful in finding her."

"I had little interaction with him; he kept mostly to himself. He wasn't a very personable man, but he clearly knew his work. The mercenary, Del Grant, seemed to have had a shared history with him. Perhaps he could tell you more."

Carnell leaned forward a little eagerly, "Del Grant? Could you arrange for me to see him?"

"Sorry, no. He left here a few days after Blake did. Once he'd helped us finish dealing with the Federation prisoners and we'd paid him, he was off to somewhere else. I don't know where; I assume it was to another assignment."

Carnell stood to signal an end to the interview. He'd learned everything he could from Cauder. Cauder stood too. "I appreciate your help, Cauder. I'm sure you agree that the Federation remains a threat to peaceful planets like Albion. With dangerous members of its previous power structure still at large, no-one is safe from their ambitions. Perhaps you could ask some of your colleagues about this Del Grant. Or, indeed, anyone else from Blake's group. We can't interview Blake, but the others might be able to give us useful information."

"A pleasure. As I said, Blake's actions surprised me, but Albion owes a great deal to Vila and Avon. If you should come in contact with them, please let them know they're always welcome on Albion." He palmed open the door and left.

Carnell sat down, thinking about what Cauder had said. He hadn't really learned anything new about what Avon had done here, but this Del Grant was a promising lead. There was something familiar about the name 'Grant.'

* * *

"If you set it on that white circle, it'll hold the pot while you open it," Dayna directed Tarrant. 

"Like this?" He set the coffee carafe on the indicated circle and loosened the lid. The carafe itself didn't budge. "That's great, Dayna, thank you." He poured two mugs and set them on the table.

"So tell me about it," Dayna encouraged.

"About what?"

Dayna made a face, "You know: the mission. What happened?"

"I crept around the woods for a couple of days and everyone else salvaged parts from the _Scorpio_."

"Oh, great story, Tarrant. You should publish that. That's not even two sips of coffee, let alone a mug."

"All right," Tarrant grinned. "But I really can't tell you what the actual salvaging was like; I wasn't there. Avon had me guarding the perimeter." He took a slow sip of coffee to exasperate Dayna and continued, "We found the wreck sooner than we'd expected and got the stardrive on the first day. It looks pretty good to me, but Avon says it may not be intact inside. It had broken loose and lodged under one of the induction tubes. Oh, and the glycolene tanks had ruptured."

"Guarding the perimeter would have been the preferred assignment, then."

"Yes, I guess it was. The others were pretty foul smelling when they came back for the night. Task and I took turns standing watch while Dase and Avon slept. That's when Dase had her encounter with the local fauna. Something crawled inside her clothes and she smashed it. Made a slimy mess inside her flightsuit. She didn't have anything else to wear except that short dress she wore at the hotel, and that wouldn't have been warm enough."

"Short dress?"

Tarrant laughed. "You should have seen us, Dayna. We masqueraded as business travellers. Avon was the important man with the money, I was his dim-witted nephew-cum-assistant, Task was a bodyguard hired by the courting company, and Dase was supposed to show us around the company's various sites. With a short dress and high heels, she was also supposed to influence Avon. We called her 'the business perk.' She was great, tottering around in those silly shoes and cooing, 'You're so clever, Mister Dastor,' and hanging onto his arm."

Dayna laughed, "Oh, I wish I could have seen that! What did Avon do?"

"He just walked around looking severe and smug at the same time. You know, the way he usually looks. It was perfect," he chuckled. "And it was great staying at the hotel. We had dinner in the room, and the breakfast buffet was fantastic. I could get used to a life like that pretty quickly." He pulled a face. "But not to sharing a room with Avon. He snores. I suppose you could get used to it—with noise cancelling earplugs."

"I know."

Tarrant looked interested. "Really?"

"Yes, remember that supply run Avon and I went on together, just the two of us? Rather than nap in one of the cabins, Avon insisted on using one of the sleep alcoves on the flightdeck. I guess he didn't trust me to handle the _Scorpio _on my own. Maybe he thought I might fall asleep. No chance of that. His snoring kept me wide awake the whole time."

"It was his snoring that gave me a black eye. I heard him during the night when I was standing watch. When I tried to stop him, he rolled over and hit me in the eye. I whacked my head on a branch and strained my back."

"How is it feeling now?"

"Fine now. Task gave me something. That and a few hours rest took care of it. And by the way, thanks for figuring out how to lengthen my bunk."

"You're welcome. What happened the next day?"

Tarrant looked embarrassed. "That was when I distinguished myself by getting captured by two of the locals. Neither one of them was very bright, but they were bright enough to catch me. They had already stripped the flyer. We left some belongings scattered around it to explain our disappearance from Gauda Prime and started hoofing it. Avon hasn't said anything about it to me yet. I'm still waiting for _that _shoe to fall."

"Avon brought something back for me. He found two of the clip guns and some clips. I can use them as templates to build us some more."

"You and your guns. I don't suppose you've had time to resupply yourself with a bow and arrows?"

"No, I haven't had a chance to look for suitable materials. I might have done if I could have gone with you. My bow and arrows from Xenon were on the _Scorpio_. Too bad Avon couldn't bring them back," she sighed.

"At least you got the clip guns. He brought back something I thought was lost forever: my picfolio with pictures of Deeta."

"He brought back something for all us. Have you thanked him?"

"Not yet."

"Maybe you'd better do that."

* * *

They were two days out from Gauda Prime when Tarrant tired of waiting for Avon to castigate him for his failure on the salvage mission. It was up to him to initiate the confrontation. 

He found Avon and Dase in her tiny workroom just off the engine room and hesitated in the doorway, unsure what to do. Dase noticed him first. "Oh, hello, Tarrant. Come look at this." She indicated the scattered pieces of the stardrive. "It's really an elegant concept. Simple, but elegant."

"It's not really my field, I'm afraid."

Something of his distress communicated itself to her, and she looked quickly from him to Avon. "Well, it's very worth the study. I can hardly tear myself away. And speaking of that," she checked the chronometer, "I guess I'd better tear myself away. I need to check the engines. I'll be back to help you later, Avon."

She downed her tools and gave the stardrive a last appreciative look before she stepped past Tarrant and into the corridor. He could hear her saying to herself, "TD fifteen, in real time."

Without looking up from his work, Avon asked, "What is it, Tarrant?"

Embarrassed at being caught out, Tarrant answered, "Nothing really. I just wanted to thank you for finding my picfolio. Those are the only pictures I had left of my brother."

Avon was uncomfortable accepting his thanks—Avon was always uncomfortable with emotional demonstrations. "You're welcome. What else?"

Tarrant shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "I was just wondering how you're getting on."

"No, you weren't. You were wondering when I'm going to chastise you for getting caught by those imbeciles on Gauda Prime."

"Yes, all right. That's partly it. But mostly I wanted to say I'm sorry for letting you down."

"How did you let me down?"

"I got caught and disarmed by a couple of village idiots when I was supposed to be guarding your back. I'd say that's pretty disappointing."

"Maybe to you, but not to me."

A familiar flash of resentment coursed through Tarrant. "You're going to say you expected nothing better from me?"

Avon sighed and put down his tools. "I was going to say it could have happened to anyone. I said it then, and I meant it. _It could have happened to any of us, Tarrant._ Worse, I left you out there trying to do guard duty with diminished resources." Avon returned his gaze to his work. "You could have been killed. I meant it when I said I was glad you were all right. I said it at Blake's base after the crash, and I meant it that time too. I've come to . . . like you, Tarrant," he finished uneasily.

Tarrant threw his head back and laughed. "Don't struggle so hard to say 'like,' Avon. I'll settle for 'tolerate.' For what it's worth, I've come to 'like' you too." He seated himself at the workbench. "Now tell me how I can help with this."

* * *

"You left them alone in there?" Jenna asked Dase. 

"Yes, but I don't think they'll rupture the hull."

"Dayna said they fought for nearly four years."

Dase laughed, "I think they've gotten over that now. Relax, Cap, I'll check them in an hour. If they're both alive, we can consider they're probably not going to kill each other anytime soon."

"Good thing. I was worried that having the two of them together on the _Lady _would be a replay of the conflicts between Avon and Blake on the _Liberator_. I can't have my crew torn apart and tense all the time like it was then."

"I didn't see anything like that on Gauda Prime, Cap. They'll work it out; they'll have to. I imagine Avon can easily take over navigation, and Task says he's good with communications."

Jenna looked at Dase sharply. "You know about that? I hadn't had a chance to tell anyone yet."

"That the Brins and the Devrils will be leaving the ship? No-one's told me, but I knew it would happen. Is it because they're nervous about what Avon might get them into, or because of what happened when we left Xaranar?"

"A little of both. Either one would be enough. Somewhere out there someone may still be trying to kill us. We'll have to find out who it is."

"You've swapped one danger for another, haven't you? It used to be the Federation, and now it's an enemy you can't even identify. Life is going to get very complicated, but at least we'll have some advantages—as soon as Avon and I get the stardrive and teleport working. Have you talked to Avon and the others about staying on?"

"No, I just assumed they'd be doing so."

"Maybe you'd better talk to them. They may be wondering what they should do with themselves after we get to UP Teal."

"You're right, Dase. I'll do that now. Thanks for staying. I really appreciate it."

Dase smiled. "I wouldn't miss this for the galaxy. It's going to be a wild ride."

* * *

The only places that were big enough to hold all seven of them were the flightdeck or the cargo hold. Jenna wanted everyone's full attention, so Lissa and Dev were manning the flight deck while Avon, Tarrant, Dayna, Vila, and Task gathered in the hold. Everyone was present except Jenna and Dase. 

"Any idea what this is about, Avon?" Vila asked nervously as he carried Orac through the door.

"This may be the point where Jenna explains nicely that her business is hauling freight, not fugitives, and that we will be leaving the ship at UP Teal."

"Do you really think so? I don't want to leave; I like it here."

"So do I, Vila," Task said. "You've become my friends, and I'd like to stay with you."

Avon asked, "You don't wish to rejoin the Rebellion?"

"Not for now. Maybe someday."

"It's all right, Vila," Dayna said, resting her hand on his arm for a moment. "Jenna isn't going to dump us somewhere."

"You're not worried, Tarrant?" Vila asked.

"No, but I have a job, haven't I?" Tarrant grinned.

Vila didn't share his amusement. You didn't find personal ads for thieves. He needed to be some place where he could be self-employed—some place with plenty of locks and pockets to pick. They might need to be very nice to Avalon, if they could find her.

Orac began, "I predict—"

"No!" Vila cut him off. "We don't want to hear your predictions. The one about the _Liberator _being destroyed was bad enough."

"And it happened too, as I predicted."

"But not the _way _you predicted."

"Quiet, Orac," Avon instructed as Jenna and Dase entered the hold. Vila came to his feet, ready to cajole, whine, or plead—whichever was necessary. "Jenna, you're not going to turn us out, are you? It's just that it's been really nice being with you again, and I'm sure we could be very useful to you if you'd let us."

Jenna took pity on him, "No, Vila, I'm not going to turn you out. That's what I wanted to talk to everyone about."

She found a place to sit where she could see all of them. "I could say I need you all to stay because I need a crew. Or I could say I need you to stay because you all have talents I could use. But the truth is that I want you all to stay because I'm glad to have found old friends and made new ones. I just don't want to part with you."

"And what's the bad news?" Avon asked.

"The bad news is that I _do _need a crew. After our little episode leaving Xaranar, Lissa and Dev want to find safer jobs. They have to think of their families. None of us can blame them for that. The Devrils have children, and Lissa's pregnant.

"But if you agree to stay, you don't have to work—sorry, Vila, I know how much that word upsets you. You don't have to earn your keep. I'll hire crew if I have to, and you'll still have a home here. Or if you wish to leave, I'll take you wherever you wish to go. But I hope you'll stay, under any circumstances you chose. I find that I need you all."

Orac piped up, "I can be very helpful as well, Jenna. You'll see."

Jenna smiled indulgently at him, "Yes, Orac, I know you can be helpful."

"Captain—" Tarrant began.

Jenna stopped him. "Just 'Jenna,' Tarrant. You've earned that."

"Jenna, I appreciate the chance you've given me to fly again. I'd say that means more than you'll ever know, but you do know, don't you? However, like you, I don't want to be parted from old friends." He turned expectantly to Avon, as everyone else did. Dayna's and Vila's eyes were pleading. Avon would decide for them, just as he always had.

Avon asked gently, "Are you sure this is the best choice for you, Jenna? You've slipped below the Federation's radar and built your own business. Involving yourself with us might destroy all that."

"I know. But you're all worth more to me than any business. I need you for yourselves. If it comes to that, I can sell the ship and we can find another way to be together. What do you say?"

Avon smiled, a genuine smile. "I say we've never heard a more generous offer. We'll stay. I'm sure between the seven of us we can run this ship properly."

Epilogue

AGENT > CLIENT : 2 f, 4 m, dep GP 2 days ago poss recov O dest UPT instr?

CLIENT > AGENT : proc UPT wait 4 instr

END


End file.
